Love? and Marriage
by dimensioner
Summary: After escaping from the Opera, the Phantom meets a woman in desperate search of a husband. What will happen if he agrees to marry her? Mostly inspired by the movie, but references to Kay.
1. The Church

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._

**THE CHURCH**

„It's over now the music of the night! "

The Phantom broke the mirror, revealing a secret passage. He stepped through into the unlit corridor and covered the entrance with a velvet curtain hanging next to it. No one entering the underground cave would assume that one of the many curtains hid a secret exit. He had left his white mask for the mob to find, giving fuel to the mystery that was considered the Opera Ghost.

His life had lost its meaning, now that Christine was gone, but he had no wish to die at the hands of a furious mob out for revenge, nor being put on display at a trial for the crimes he had committed.

After the Phantom had left his lair, he walked through the secret tunnels under the building and finally exited at Rue Scribe. Turning around, he cast one last look at the burning Opera house. The one place that had been his home for years, the magnificent building he had helped to construct, now stood in flames and was lost to him forever.

Trying to avoid the crowd that was drawn to the site of the catastrophe, he crossed the street and slipped into a small alley, creeping from shadow to shadow so that not even the dim light of the street lamps could illuminate his distorted face.

The Phantom thought about taking his life there and then, but he had survived so much; the gypsies, the Shah and the Khanum, he would not lose his will to live over the unrequited love for a young woman.

He had quite a lot of money saved from the salary the owners of the Opera Populaire had paid him, but in the middle of the night he had no way to get to it, and no place to stay.

Passing by the small church of Saint-Philippe-du-Roule, he decided to spend the night in there. Nearly laughing out loud at the irony of the 'devil's child' seeking shelter in the house of God, he silently opened the door and slipped in the shadow.

Only a few candles burned in front of a statue of Mary and her Son, the rest of the church was cast in shadow. With his good night vision he searched for a place to rest a few hours. Deciding on a small draped side altar near the confessional, he crept along the left side of the church towards his destination.

A creak in the wood in one of the pews on the right, followed by a sigh made him stop in his tracks. He hadn't noticed that he was not alone. Which wasn't a good sign; he chided himself, being on the run from the authorities and not being aware of his surroundings.

Not sure whether to investigate or ignore the noises coming from the other side of the church, another sniff drew his attention again to the pews lying in the dark. Making up his mind, the Phantom used the protection of the shadows to approach the originator of the noise.

Drawing closer, he registered a female voice.

"Heaven help me, but I don't know what to do! My birthday is in 2 days and I still haven't found anyone! I'd even marry a beggar by now."

Not quite understanding what the woman was on about, but definitely curious, the Phantom sat himself down a few pews behind her. Even with his good sight he still could only make out her outlines. Her body was shivering, probably because of the tears she shed. She seemed to be severely distraught.

"I wish father came back to end this. Why would he do that do me?" the woman continued. She blew in her handkerchief, then shook her head desolately. "God, I sound desperate."

Before he knew what he was doing the words came out of his mouth. "Yes, you do."


	2. Marry Me

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._

**MARRY ME**

Startled, the woman stood and turned around, gripping the wood of the pew she had sat in tightly, showing the Phantom that she had not expected company and was clearly surprised. Immediately the Phantom recoiled and tried to hide his unmasked face. He hadn't wanted to say the words out loud and even less draw the attention of the woman towards himself.

After her initial shock, the woman composed herself and, after using her handkerchief to wipe the tears away, she addressed him.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice more or less steady in spite of her distraught state. "How much did you hear?"

She didn't seem to be frightened of him.

'That's because she hasn't seen my face yet,' the Phantom thought bitterly. But still, something kept him from simply disappearing. The fact that she stood there, her head straight, demanding answers, when just about a minute ago she was sobbing uncontrollably, intrigued him.

"Only a bit", he answered truthfully.

"So, would you agree to help me?" Her voice now had a trembling tone to it that didn't seem to be caused by her tears.

"Help you? How?" he asked, not sure what she meant with it.

"Would you agree to marry me?" she asked, her voice but a mere whisper.

He nearly laughed out loud. Only hours ago, he had tried to force Christine into marrying him, only to let her go with the man she truly loved. And now this woman was asking him to marry him? The irony of it was nearly unbelievable.

"No", he replied dryly.

"I can give you money," she offered. She really had to be desperate to have this conversation with a total stranger.

"I don't need money," was his answer. The whole situation seemed too ridiculous to be true. He left the pew he was in and turned to leave. Apparently, he would have to find shelter elsewhere.

"Then why? Why won't you marry me?" He heard her footsteps, and, remaining in the security of the shadows, turned around, fully expecting her to follow up behind him. But instead she had approached the illuminated area around the statue of the Mother of God.

For the first time, the Phantom was able to see her clearly. She was of average height and seemed to be a few years older than Christine, already in her twenties. Her auburn hair was pulled back on top, but flowing open on the back. Her dark-coloured dress was of the latest fashion and of good quality; she apparently came from a wealthy family. She should have no problem finding a husband, and yet, here she was, begging him to marry her. He was definitely curious why a woman like her would have to revert to such desperate measures to acquire a husband.

"Do I not please you?" she asked a bit shyly.

A laugh escaped his lips at this question. "That's not the problem."

"Then what is it?" She raised her arms, agitated.

"You mean besides my not knowing why you would want to marry me? How about this?" he snarled and walked forward into the light.


	3. The Face

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._

**THE FACE**

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a silent scream. She had never seen anything like the face of this stranger she had just asked to take her hand in marriage. Even the warm dim light of the church's candles could not embellish his horrid appearance.

His left side was unmarred, but the skin had a yellowish tint to it. The right side though was twisted and scarred. The side of the nose was elongated towards the cheek, the cheekbone higher than usual, the eye sunken in, and its lid smaller than on the other side, which gave the eye the impression of a constant glare. Where the skin wasn't tainted red as if infected, it had the same yellowish tint to it than the other side, but the skin seemed thinner, with some veins showing through.

The deformation spread into the hairline and back to his ear which amazingly was only a bit crooked on the top. The hair itself was thin and of a greyish brown. The whole right side was bumped and twisted, and the contrast to his unblemished left side made it look even worse.

Horrified she took a few steps back until she collided with the table the candles were standing upon. A strangled sob escaped her lips. She raised her handkerchief to wipe away the tears and stifle the sound. Though she hadn't screamed, her reaction was more or less what the Phantom thought it would be. It was clear to see that now that she knew whom she had begged to marry her she would rethink her offer.

He had known what was to happen, but still, a rejection hurt, no matter that there had been numerous others before that one. He started to take a step back to be once more reclaimed by the shadows when her hand shot forward, begging him to stop.

"No, wait" she said. "I…you…you're the Phantom of the Opera," she stammered.

At her words his hands reached instinctively for the lasso, but he had left it back in the vaults of the opera. He therefore had to come up close to a person to inflict harm, and that was the least thing he wanted. With his face bare like this, he would always be recognised for what he was, an outcast, a monster and a murderer, he realised. Defeated, he turned once more to leave.

"Please, stay," she begged.

The woman did not immediately run in fear from him as she should be, and he wondered why. In fact, she was currently asking herself the same thing. 'I'm too curious for my own good,' she told herself, deciding to find out more about this mystified men she just had encountered.

'And I am running out of time, so maybe...' she pondered, daring to look at him again.

"I passed the burning opera on my way here, and heard people gossiping about what happened," she continued.

"Then leave, quickly. Don't you know I am a murderer?" he sneered.

The Phantom suddenly advanced on her, making her step back to the right only to find herself cornered. He was now only inches from her, threatening her with his tall frame. She cast her eyes to the floor, but he put a hand under her chin and forced her to look at him, his disfigured face close her own. Aggression radiated off him, with his lips turned upward in a smirk, his golden eyes sparkling like those of a dangerous cat waiting for its strike. She wanted to shrink further back in the corner, but his hand held her in place.

"Now tell me, do you still want me to marry you?"


	4. Explanations

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._

**EXPLANATIONS**

"I…" she began, her whole body trembling now, making it hard for her to continue.

"Do I not please you?" he repeated her words from earlier in a mocking tone. She stood before him, and he could feel the shivers that shook her body through his fingers that still held her face firmly in their grasp.

"Answer me!" he spat.

"Yes!" she shouted, looking him directly in the eye.

Surprised, he let go of her chin and stepped back.

"What?" he muttered, shaking his head. "How can you want a marriage when you know what I am?"

"Because I need you. I need to find a husband. If I don't I…" her strength weakening, new tears started welling up in her eyes and she sank to the floor.

He should leave; he knew it, before somebody could find them here. But what she said made no sense to him and he was curious to find out the reason behind her absurd demand. It seemed highly unlikely that more people were to show up in the church at this late hour, so he walked back to the first pew, sat down and put his hands on the wood in front of him.

"Explain" was all he said.

Using her handkerchief to clear her nose, she took a moment to calm herself, and then looked up at him from the corner. Her eyes were red, and a few tears still lingered in them. She knew it was desperate to talk to a complete stranger about her problem, but she had so few people to confide in that she did not even care that it was a presumed murderer she talked to.

"I will turn 25 in 2 days. If I am not married until then, all my fortune will pass on to my stepmother. I'm to be left with only a small amount, just enough to support me for a few months," she told him, sounding defeated.

25, she was nearly a spinster. 8 years older than his beloved Christine. Christine. Closing his eyes, the Phantom willed the painful image of her from his mind. He opened his eyes and examined the woman before him. She was of a certain beauty, and her apparent wealth should have helped her finding a husband years ago.

"How come nobody proposed to you until now?" he asked, intrigued.

"My father wanted me to marry for love, and at 22, I still hadn't found the right one. So he made up a contract, telling me to marry before I turned 25 or all my heritage would be passed on to his new wife. He simply wanted to encourage me to be less picky, thinking I would have a husband before 6 months had gone by," she explained, wringing the handkerchief in her hands.

"Then, 2 months after our agreement, he boarded a ship as a member of a scientific expedition to Africa." She laughed half-heartedly.

"Still, I took the whole thing lightly, knowing I had enough time to find someone suitable I could give my heart to. After one year and a half, his letters stopped. Messages of a plague in the region he was last seen in reached our ears. I refused to believe he was dead. I still do," she said, emphasising the last phrase.

"A few weeks after this my stepmother confined me to my rooms. I was not to participate in any party or ball or other social event. She spread the rumour of my being ill to excuse my absence," she recounted.

She stood, still twisting the tissue in her hands. "In the beginning I liked her, but I couldn't get rid of the feeling that she only wanted my father's money. He seemed to be happy again, so I was happy for him. When father left, her behaviour changed. I was right, she only wanted the money. When I marry, my father's fortune is to be my dowry, of course with enough for my stepmother to live a comfortable life. But she wants more, she wants everything."

"So, you accuse her of being greedy and you are willing to marry a stranger to keep the money for yourself?" he resumed sarcastically.

"No! Yes, sort of," she admitted. "It's different."

"How so?" the Phantom asked.

"It is after all rightfully mine, I don't have a brother, and before the contract I made with my father, everything was to be my heritage. She took the possibility to find someone in time from me! She made me a prisoner in our house!" she shouted, agitated, and started pacing.

"I don't want her to win, I am willing to marry anyone just to spite her." She stopped and faced him. "I am willing to marry you."

"Nothing you said convinces me to marry you. It is a selfish proposal and I have nothing to gain." He leaned back on the bench, waiting for her answer.

"You are on the run from the authorities, right?" she inquired. His eyes narrowed immediately, awaiting a threat. "The police will search the whole city for you. To be save you would have to leave Paris. But the woman you love, the singer..."

"Christine," he interrupted her.

"Yes, Christine. She will stay here. So what better cover than becoming the husband of a wealthy woman to stay near her?"

She couldn't believe that she still pressed this man to accept her proposal. She pleaded with a disfigured murderer to marry her. But what she had told him earlier was the truth. She really no longer cared whom she would bind herself to, but it had to be soon. She ran out of time. She'd rather take a genius madman than a dull nobody from the street as a husband.

Glancing over to him, she could see that she had played it right by mentioning the singer the so-called 'Opera Ghost' had fallen for. He finally seemed to consider her offer.

"And how are you going to explain this," he gestured towards his face, "to the registrar, or anybody else?"

"I don't know, are you going to wear a mask again?" she asked him. Even locked in her rooms, she had heard all the rumours that surrounded the opera in the past months.

"It is most likely," he conceded.

"Then you simply say you had an accident or something." She paused, thinking of something else. "Do you have a birth certificate?" He nodded. "We would need it at the magistrate."

"Wait," he said, dimming the glimmer of hope that had started showing in her eyes. "What about divorce? You will eventually find someone you really want to marry."

"Well, the contract has no conditions as to what happens after the marriage was sealed. But I don't want to give Clara the opportunity to challenge it, so we sure would have to pose as a married couple for a while," she conceded.

There he was, sitting in a church only hours after the events in the still burning opera, with a woman desperate enough to submit herself to him willingly and actually considering her offer. For the past few months, not only everyone involved in the opera, but the whole Parisian society feared him and his erratic actions. Marrying a woman he had never seen before would only fit this unpredictability.

Being of a rich family, she probably frequented the same circles as Christine as a Vicomtesse now would, making it easier for him to gather information. The mask could pose as eccentric accessorize to camouflage a hunting accident or the remains of a severe infection. And nobody would think of accusing a member of high society of boding with the Opera Ghost, making him save from prosecutions.

He got up and approached her. Nervously, she took a step back, then, shaking her head and berating herself, she retook her place. He inwardly admired her for that show of strength of character. She looked up at him, wincing once again a bit at the sight of his mangled face. He turned his head, engulfing his right side more in the shadows.

"I believe we have an agreement," he told her, offering his hand. A smile broke out on her face.

"Now tell me, what is your name?"


	5. Agreements

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._

**AGREEMENTS**

"Joséphine d'Escayrac," she replied.

"You're the daughter of Stanislas d'Escayrac, the explorer?" he inquired.

She nodded. "I told you my father left for Africa. He's searching for the source of the White Nile."

He took a closer look at her face, searching for similarities, for her father was a quite known scientist. Yes, her face was of the same shape, and her eyes were of the same olive green like those of her father.

"The 'darkest Africa' is quite dangerous, or so I heard. I don't think your father is still alive," he observed.

Her eyes grew cold, and she turned away from him. "Don't ever say that again. My father is a strong man, and he will find a way back!" she hissed, clearly upset.

"If you say so," he said quietly.

Deciding to better change the subject he reached for her. At the feeling of his cool hand on her shoulder Joséphine willed herself not to twitch and turned around again.

"My birth certificate is at a bank. I can go there first thing in the morning, then we can meet at the registry to legitimate this…union," the Phantom said.

"I…" she began, but stopped. Passing by him, she sat down in the first pew, leaning back. She looked tired.

"What is it?" he asked her. He walked over and sat down next to her, keeping a save distance and adjusting his position so she wouldn't have to look at his deformation.

"I sneaked out of the house, and I don't know if I'll be able to get out again if I go home now," she admitted dejectedly. "So I thought that maybe we could already try and wake the priest to…"

A cynical laugh escaped his lips. He looked at her incredulously.

"You really want a Christian wedding?" She opened her mouth to answer but he interrupted her. "Do you really think a priest would let someone like me take the vows of holy matrimony?" The Phantom turned his head slightly, so his right side was once more illuminated by the candles. He had to give her credit that she flinched only lightly at seeing him completely.

"Of course," he continued, "you could plead for annulment, saying the devil's child forced himself upon you. Yes, I'm sure the church will believe that, and you could have another Christian wedding..."

"I didn't mean to…" she began, but he stopped her again.

"Tell me then, what did you mean?"

"I meant…I've never been very religious, being the daughter of a scientist, but it's tradition to be wed in church as well. We have to do it, or Clara may be able to challenge this union and hence the contract," Joséphine explained.

"A church wedding has nothing to do with the law," the Phantom told her.

"Theoretically, no," she acknowledged, "France is a laical country, but the influence of the Christian believe in everyday life is undeniable. I am pretty sure that not being wed in a church will affect the judgement of some people in society, and that goes for the authorities as well. I will not take the risk at marrying you to let it all be in vain." She looked at him challenging, but then her eyes grew soft. She undid the shawl tied around her shoulders and offered it to him. "If you rather hide your face before a priest, take it."

The Phantom looked at her, astounded, not sure if he should thank her for her thoughtfulness or if she didn't want the priest to see whom he would wed her to. Nonetheless, he took the cloth from her, but didn't put it on.

A few minutes of silence passed, then he got up, handing her back the shawl. "I will look like a bloody pirate if I put this on, you will have to bear with the sight of me, and the priest as well. Let's go find him."


	6. The Priest

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart!__ Stanislas d'Escayrac was a real french explorer in the 19__th__ century, I only took the liberty of changing the timeline a bit. Still, I liked the name!_

**THE PRIEST**

Joséphine rose from the bench and followed the Phantom towards the door at the left of the main altar. Passing by the statue of Holy Mary, she reached for a candle to have some light.

"You won't need one, I will guide you," she heard him say. Her 'fiancé' apparently had good night vision, for he was already a few meters ahead of her in the less lit section of the church.

Her 'fiancé'. It hit her then that she hadn't even asked his name.

"Uhm…," The Phantom turned around. "I'm sorry I didn't ask before, but what is your name?" Joséphine asked him shyly, closing up on him.

"Erik, my name is Erik," he informed her.

"Erik…thank you for helping me," she told him, taking his arm to let him guide her, trying to ignore the chill that crept from his body.

Having only been referred to as the Opera Ghost or the Phantom in the last time, Erik felt strange at hearing his name out loud again. Not vocally acknowledging her thanks, he turned around again and moved on. He opened the door and led them through the Sacristy to an exit at the back of the church. They found themselves in a garden in front a small stone house. His resident seemed to sleep, for no lights could be seen.

Joséphine let out a breath, strode forward and knocked on the door, Erik followed behind her. Some time passed and nothing happened. She knocked again and was content to hear a rustling and the sound of feet approaching the door. Moments later the door creaked open to reveal an elderly man in his nightclothes.

"Yes, my child? What urgent matters bring you to my church in the middle of the night?" he inquired, stifling a yawn.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you at such a late hour, father, but I want you to marry me" she said, coming straight to the point.

The priest's eyes widened at that, and, realising her mistake, she corrected herself.

"I'm sorry, that was not what I wanted to say. I want you to wed us." She motioned to the man behind her.

The clergyman lifted the candle he was holding in his hands, trying to see the face of the man standing in the dark behind the young woman. The Phantom took a step forward, but consciously kept his right side in the shadows.

"That's all very nice, but couldn't you wait until morning?" the priest asked the couple.

"No," Joséphine replied. "You see, my stepmother is against this union, so I stole out of the house…"

She choked back some tears that threatened to fall, appealing to the sympathy of the man in front of her.

Compassionate, the clergyman looked at the seemingly distraught woman. Apparently this man meant a lot to her, if she wanted to marry him against the will of her family.

"Why don't you both come in and have some tea, I'm sure that we can work something out," the priest said and opened the door further. He was rewarded with a smile that lit up the woman's face.

She put a hand on his arm. "Thank you father, but there is one more thing that you must know." She cast a glance back at her 'fiancé', sure that he wasn't going to like what she was going to say next.

"Erik…well, he suffered from an illness a long time ago, and his complexion is…different because of this." She felt him stiffen behind her, but he remained quiet so far.

"My stepmother disagrees with this marriage, she can't accept that he is the man I chose, but I refuse to let her dissuade me from my decision." She reached for Erik and drew him close. He was impressed, she was very convincing. She hadn't exactly lied, but hadn't told the whole truth either.

His face now exposed to the light of the candle, he fully expected the priest to start reciting the Lord's Prayer, but the man quietly took in the sight of him and the woman at his arm.

"I see," the priest said finally. "If you are truly willing to become his wife, then who am I to judge." He turned and headed back into the house, not seeing the smile on Joséphine's face or the stunned look on Erik's.

"Last chance to back out, Erik," she said quietly, fearing he would reject her now that she had made it that far. He looked down at her, not really sure what the future with that woman on his side would bring him, but willing to try.

'For Christine,' he thought, and together they entered the house.


	7. Talks

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._

**TALKS**

They followed the priest into a small room that served as parlour as well as dining room. He illuminated two oil lamps installed on the walls, then put the candle on the table.

"Please sit," he said, gesturing with his hand towards a settee. Keeping a respectful distance, Joséphine and Erik sat down next to each other. The priest took his place at a worn armchair and clasped his hands.

"Now, why don't you start with telling me your names?" He looked at Erik expectantly for he had yet to utter a word. But it was Joséphine who started the conversation.

"My name is Joséphine d'Escayrac. My father is away on an expedition in Africa, so my stepmother is ruling the house. In the last time she wouldn't let me leave the house, so I had no chance of seeing Erik."

She blushed and cast her eyes downward. "I really want to be his wife, and I didn't know what else to do besides meeting him secretly. I stole out after dinner tonight to meet him."

She slid closer to Erik and put her hand on his, as if to encourage him to speak openly to the other man. She felt his hand stiffen under the contact, but he gave no other sign that he was uncomfortable.

"My name is Erik Perrault," he said, but gave no further information.

The priest tried to prompt him with a gesture to continue, but he didn't seem to be a man of many words.

"How did you two meet?" The priest asked them.

Again it was Joséphine who answered. "In a church, actually. I was there for a prayer when he started talking to me."

Erik had to smirk at the way she chose her words to twist the truth. She was a good actress.

As Joséphine started recounting their 'courting', he allowed his thoughts to drift of. Even though this union increased his chances of seeing Christine again, he had to be very careful and lay low for a while. Society would soon find some other scandal to occupy themselves with, but the Vicomte would not so be so easily swayed. He and Joséphine better find a good lie to explain their sudden marriage.

He had told her in the church that he would wear a mask again. She no longer seemed to be afraid, but still, he himself didn't like being so exposed. But the mask would have to be different from the white one he used to wear or somebody could make the connection. A flesh-coloured one could work; maybe it would allow him to blend in better. And he needed a new wig.

Still, a new mask and hair weren't going to fool Christine or the Vicomte. He would prove to Christine that he could life a 'normal' life. He just had to prevent Raoul from informing the authorities of his whereabouts. He would need Joséphine's help for that.

He looked at the woman beside him. She was still holding his hand and talking animatedly to the clergyman. He admired her courage to go through with her plan at all costs, even if it meant to marry a monster. This arrangement would prove itself to be very interesting, Erik was sure of that.

"Erik?" she suddenly addressed him. "Were you even listening?"

Caught, he tried to cover up his mistake. "When you started, I got lost in the memories," he improvised.

She patted his hand. "It's okay, it's not as if you didn't know what I just recounted…" she said with a twinkle in her eyes. He actually had to smile at that. She was incredibly witty to react that fast.

The priest cleared his throat and brought their attention back to him.

"What Joséphine has told me has me deeply moved. I will join the two of you in marriage. Just give me a minute to get dressed and then we will go back to the church." With that said, he stood and left the room, leaving the couple alone.

Immediately, Erik pulled his hand away. "What did you tell him?" he asked.

"Not much, just enough to give him the impression that we are meant to be together," Joséphine replied dryly. "Don't worry, I don't think he's going to ask us any more questions, you can stay your taciturn self."

Erik gave her a stern look, but she wasn't intimidated by that.

As they heard the priest coming back, Joséphine took hold of his hand again and pulled him up from the settee.

"Please follow me," the priest told them. He held an oil lamp in his right hand to guide the way through the garden. Arriving at the Sacristy, he lit the candles on the candelabra.

"I should have asked before, but you do have the required documents, don't you?" He asked them as he sat down behind a small table, gesturing to two chairs in front of him. Joséphine grew pale, but this time it was Erik who spoke.

"I did not know that Joséphine would come to me tonight, so my birth certificate, as well as all my other documents is still in my bank safe. I can bring them to you tomorrow, if that is alright with you."

Although the clergyman wasn't too comfortable with that idea, he felt in both of them the strong desire to be wed this night, so he let it pass. "Tomorrow will be fine, just promise me not to turn up at such a late hour again."

Instantly, Joséphine relaxed and sat down with Erik beside her. She opened her purse and gave him her documents.

"Still, since you don't have your documents with you, I need you to tell me where you were baptized," the priest addressed Erik, while opening a folder lying on the table and copying Joséphine's birth date and baptize date in it.

"In Rouen, by father Erik Mansart. My mother didn't…hadn't decided on a name, so I was named after him," he answered.

Joséphine looked at him. If it was true what he had just said, it was actually the first real information she got about him, besides his name and all the rumours she had heard about him.

"Good, that will be enough for now." The priest put aside his pen. "Shall we begin with the ceremony then?"


	8. A Church Wedding

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._

**A CHURCH WEDDING**

Joséphine nodded.

"So we are here tonight to join you, Joséphine d'Escayrac, and you, Erik Perrault, in holy matrimony. I've learned enough during the conversation with Mademoiselle d'Escayrac to see that you both want to be married, whatever others may say to it. A love as this should never be underestimated." Gladly, the priest didn't see Erik flinch as he talked about the 'love' they had for each other.

"Do you, Erik Perrault, take Joséphine d'Escayrac to be your wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

Erik swallowed hard, but answered. "I do."

The priest smiled and turned towards Joséphine. "Do you, Joséphine d'Escayrac, take Erik Perrault to be your husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

Doubts claimed her for a second and she tried to hide the trembling that had taken a hold of her. But she had to do it, not just to spite her stepmother and keep her heritage, but also to honour her father and the contract he had made with her. Even if it was the Phantom of the Opera, a deformed criminal that she was about to wed.

"I do," she told the priest.

"Will you please join your hands?" The clergyman smiled at them.

They did as he asked, although hesitantly.

"Now, do you both promise to continue observing the Catholic faith and to do your best to raise your children as Catholics?"

Erik nearly choked on that, never having thought about this before. How could a monster like him even dare to think of having offspring? Not even in the dreams he had of Christine willingly becoming his wife children had entered his mind.

At the same time, it dawned on Joséphine that this implied to bed the man sitting next to her. She had known about her marital duties, but in her desperate attempt at finding a husband in time, it had escaped her what was awaited of her after the wedding. But there was no going back now.

She squeezed Erik's hand to get his attention. He seemed equally shaken by this revelation. Looking into his eyes, she pleaded with him to nod at the priest's request, which he did.

The priest took in their silent affirmation and proceeded. "Do you have a ring, Monsieur Perrault?"

Erik still had Christine's engagement ring, which she had given him as a 'souvenir' before leaving the catacombs with Raoul, in his pocket, but he wasn't willing to pass it along to Joséphine.

He wanted to shake his head when Joséphine spoke up. "I have the ring."

She took hold of the medallion around her neck and opened it to reveal a beautiful ring of white gold adorned with small diamonds around it. "It was my mother's, I kept it since her death," she explained, handing Erik the ring with tears in her eyes. He took a closer look at the exquisite craftsmanship and waited for the priest to continue.

"May this ring be blessed so he who gives it and she who wears it may abide in peace, and continue in love until life's end."

He motioned for Erik to put the band on Joséphine's finger. Her hand trembled lightly as she looked at her mother's ring, now a symbol of a union to a man she didn't love. Her tears started falling freely now, which the clergyman interpreted as tears of joy, but Erik saw them for what they were: signs of desperation and fear of what the future may hold for her now that she had bound herself to a monster.

"May you be prepared to continue to give, be able to forgive and experience more and more joy with each passing day, with each passing year," the priest went on.

"What God now has joined together, let no one tear apart. Congratulations, Monsieur and Madame Perrault." The priest rose to shake the hands of the newly-weds. The couple stood as well, and after paying the priest a few coins for his services, they bid him goodbye and left through the church.

Standing at the entrance portal, Joséphine looked pensively at the ring that now adorned her right hand, then at her 'husband' beside her. It was still night, and only a few stars lit the sky. Erik's gaze was drawn east, where behind the houses the orange glow of the still burning opera was visible.

Joséphine followed his gaze. "It was your home, right?" she asked, but didn't get an answer.

Both of them got lost in thoughts about everything that had happened this night and what was going to happen in the future. It seemed like a dream, but neither was sure if it was not turning out to be a nightmare.

Tearing his gaze away from the sight, he turned to the woman next to him. "The bank as well as the registry won't open until the morning; there are still a few hours to pass. If you don't want to spend the night in the church or at home, we should probably find a tavern," he suggested, seeing Joséphine stifling a yawn.

Erik was tired as well, he hadn't slept for a few days, preparing everything for 'Don Juan Triumphant' and to undermine the Vicomte's plan.

"You are right," Joséphine answered. She wished for nothing else than a few hours of dreamless sleep. "Where do we go?" she asked, yawning.

"I know of a tavern not so far from here, where nobody will ask too many questions," Erik replied.

Putting her hand on his arm, Joséphine let him lead her wordlessly towards the tavern.


	9. The Tavern

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._

**THE TAVERN**

They didn't talk during the walk to the tavern, Erik too occupied with his thoughts, and Joséphine too tired to make small talk.

When they arrived at the tavern's door, Joséphine halted him. "I suppose you don't have any money with you," pausing for a second to continue in a whisper, "Since you left quite hastily from your home."

Was she making a joke or was it just a bad way for her to express the obvious? Erik wasn't sure.

"No, I don't have money, everything I possess that wasn't at my 'home'," he emphasized the word, "is stored at the bank."

Joséphine nodded, then opened her purse, took out a few coins and gave it to him. Erik put them in the pocket of his trousers but didn't knock on the door. At the inquiring look of Joséphine he gestured towards his face. "I'm not sure the innkeeper will let me enter if he sees this."

She started to undo her shawl again, when he stopped her. "No offence, but this will just not do. I need something else to cover my face."

Joséphine stopped; then, suddenly she turned her back to him and walked towards a dark corner.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, bewildered.

Erik had his answer when he heard the sound of a fabric being torn apart. She came back to him holding a long strip of white linen, which she had obviously ripped from her undergarments, in her hands. When she lifted her hands towards his face, he recoiled. Blushing she dropped her hands.

"I wanted to make it seem like a bandage, but if you prefer to do it yourself, here, take it." She shoved the linen into his hands, than stepped back and leaned against the wall of the building.

Erik started to wind the strip around his head, masking the deformation as good as he could. He was amazed that she had once more been willing to touch him, even nearly touch his monstrous side. He appreciated that she didn't treat him for worse because of his deformity; indeed, she seemed to have grown accustomed to it, probably because she had only ever seen him like this. Still, the sooner he could lay hands on a new mask, the better.

Finished with applying the linen, he looked at her. Receiving a nod that he had hidden his right side as best as possible, he finally knocked on the door.

Only a few seconds later, the peephole was opened by a middle aged man with dark hair and a moustache, obviously the owner of the establishment.

"What?" he asked in a deep, rumbling voice.

"My wife and I need shelter for the night," Erik told the man who looked at him curiously.

"What happened to your head?" he inquired.

"We were robbed in our home," Joséphine explained. "I don't feel save there anymore, so after reporting to the police and getting my husband treated, I convinced him to spend the night in a tavern."

This woman had no scruples whatsoever, Erik thought. The speed with which her brain worked to come up with such a story impressed him.

"Robbed you were, ey? Can you pay then?"

"Yes we can, the thieves left when I stood up at them," Erik replied. He took the coins out of his pocket and showed them to the man. He only nodded, than closed the peephole to open the door.

They paid the man and stepped into the tavern which consisted of only a few tables and a bar at the opposite end. On the left was a staircase to the upper floor, hosting the guest rooms as well as the private quarters of the owner and his wife, who at the moment was cleaning the floor near the bar with a broom. She looked up as the couple entered.

"Anna, show them to the free room at the end of the hall, they will stay the night," the owner explained to his wife, who put aside the broom, took a candle from one of the tables and went to the staircase, motioning for the two to follow her. Erik and Joséphine thanked the host and went after her.

The room they found themselves in a few minutes later was small but clean. A table with a stool was placed near the window, a cupboard next to it, a bed and a nightstand with a pitcher and a bowl was all the furniture.

One bed. Big enough for both of them, but still, they only knew each other for a few hours.

One bed. Both stood next to the door and stared at it. Finally, Erik spoke. "If you could spare a pillow, I will sleep on the floor."

Joséphine breathed a sigh of relief. She had feared that he would already claim his marital rights this night and she wasn't ready for this yet. She thanked him silently for not taking advantage of the situation they were in.

Walking towards the bed she grabbed the best pillow and a blanket, offering it to him. He took them from her silently and installed himself across the room.

With his back turned to her, she took off her robe, not wanting to crinkle it even more as it already was and slipped under the covers. She had never spent the night with a man before, but sensing that Erik was too occupied with whatever was going on in his mind to bother her during her sleep, she felt save enough.

She remembered her father telling her often that she was too trusting in people, but ever since she had seen Erik's face and still pleaded him to marry her, he had shown no anger or aggression towards her. He may be the Opera Ghost, a murderer whose obsession for a singer had ended in the downfall of the Opera Populaire, but she had decided to not judge the man by all the rumours she had heard about him, but by his behaviour. And up until now, he seemed quite tolerable. She found the deformed side of his face still appalling, but was determined not to let his looks interfere with her opinion of him.

In the church, he had accused her of being greedy, and maybe she was. She wanted to keep the lifestyle she had, she wanted to stay in the house she grew up in, but most of all she wanted to see Clara's face when she came home with a husband one day before her birthday, one day before everything had fallen to her.

Joséphine knew that Clara was never to find out Erik's identity, or she would have him handed over to the authorities. It probably was of no consequence to her as the contract had been fulfilled, but she owed it to him to help him as best as she could just as he had helped her by agreeing to this charade.

Blowing out the candle, she spoke into the darkness. "Good night Erik."

"Good night," came the quiet reply from the far side of the room.

Tomorrow morning, after retrieving everything he needed they would go to the registry and be lawfully wedded. She could only fathom what life with Erik, the Phantom of the Opera would be like, but sure it would be quite interesting.


	10. The Bank

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._

**THE BANK**

Though Erik was exhausted, he didn't immediately fall asleep that night. Thoughts of what was to come in the morning plagued him. It had been a while since he was out in broad daylight, and he had never gone without his mask. In the last months, when his whole being was consumed with the love for Christine, Madame Giry had been the one who brought his 'salary' from the opera to the bank.

The Vicomte surely would press the police to continue their search for him after they hadn't found him in the depths of the opera. So it was a good thing that he would go to the bank in the company of a woman, and also that he could mask his deformity under a bandage. He was sure that it would raise much less suspicions than going there alone. Finally, he succumbed to an uneasy sleep.

* * *

They slept until the early morning. Joséphine was the first to stir, feeling slightly disorientated. After realising where she was, she let out a deep breath and looked over to Erik who was still asleep in the corner, his face towards the wall.

She reached for the dress that she had put next to the bed and slipped it on, then went over to Erik's sleeping form. Intent to wake him, she knelt down by his side and tapped his shoulder.

Immediately, he turned around in one swift moment and grabbed her by the throat, pinning her underneath him.

Joséphine let out a strangled sound as the air supply was cut off from her body. Finally focusing on the person under him, Erik released her abruptly and sat back in the corner.

Joséphine drew a long breath to get some air back into her lungs and looked at him, aghast. She stood up and moved back to the bed, stumbling on her way. Erik made no attempt to help her but stayed at the other side of the room, his face hidden.

Joséphine opened her mouth to speak, but only a croak escaped her. She thought seeing Erik flinch at the noise, but he gave no reaction otherwise. She cleared her throat and tried again.

"Are you always this paranoid?" she asked him, her voice a bit hoarse. He finally raised his head to look at her.

"I am not used to wake up in company," he replied.

"Well, you better get used to it, I won't let myself be choked to death every morning," she told him angrily, rubbing her throat.

"It was not my intention to hurt you," Erik explained. It seemed that was as much of an excuse as she could get.

"I guess I'll be fine," she replied dryly. She certainly would be more careful around him from now on. Especially in the mornings.

"We should go now," he informed her. He rose and wrapped the linen which he had discarded during the night around his head. Joséphine tried as best as she could to make her hair presentable, then stood up and headed towards the door. Erik was there first and opened it for her. Casting him a sideways glance, she went through and headed down the stairs.

Because of the early hour there weren't many people on the streets, mostly workers and servants, and nobody paid them any particular attention. Within minutes they had arrived at the bank. A young man in uniform was about to open the gates that secured the door.

"Bonjour, Madame, Monsieur," he said, nodding to each of them, "the bank will open in a minute." Then he left to the right side of the building.

After what was a little longer than a minute, the doors of the bank opened to reveal a man in his forties in a fashionable suit. He looked them up and down, taking in the contrast between Joséphine's expensive clothing and Erik's tousled state, not too sure what to think of them.

"I have come to get something from my deposit," Erik informed the banker. "Yes of course, Monsieur…" "Perrault, Erik Perrault," Erik told the man.

"If you will follow me," the employee said and led them to a desk at the back of the bank.

"Please, sit down," he gestured to the two chairs in front of the desk. "If you would hand me your papers, I will send someone down immediately to bring your deposit box."

"The papers are in the deposit, I have an arrangement to answer some security questions to get access," Erik explained to the man. The banker lifted an eyebrow, but he knew that sometimes clients asked for a special agreement with the owner of the bank, so he called for one of his colleagues to bring him the form Erik had to fill out.

Joséphine took all this in without saying a word. She had actually thought that getting Erik's documents from the bank would be much more difficult because of his appearance. But apparently, as long as you were a good client, it didn't matter. And the strap he had wound around his head made it convincingly seem as if he had been in an accident.

After Erik had filled out the questionnaire and his identity was therefore proofed, they were led to a small cubicle to give them the required privacy to take out everything they needed. Though Joséphine was curious to see what he had stored at the bank, she stepped back to let him attend to his things.

Erik opened the deposit box that had been brought into the cubicle to reveal a considerable amount of money and some newspaper articles of Christine's triumphs on stage. Lingering for a few seconds over a picture of Christine, he quashed down the emotions they awoke, then took a few packets of notes and searched for his papers.

After he was done, he closed the lid and stuffed the documents and part of the money under his shirt, offering the rest to Joséphine. "This is for the tavern and the priest," Erik told her.

Joséphine nodded and put the money in her purse. Signalling for the employee that they were done, they left the cubicle and went back to the banker at the desk.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Monsieur Perrault?" the employee said, standing up.

"Yes, there is. We are going to be married today, and I want her to have unlimited access to my account and the deposit." Joséphine gasped, surprised.

"Of course," the banker replied, searching his drawers for the form.

"Please fill this out," handing the form to Joséphine along with a quill. She looked at Erik, who only nodded and indicated that he would explain later.

So she did as she was asked, filled in the required blanks and handed the paper back to the banker. "Very well, you will have access to the savings of your husband from tomorrow on. And congratulations, if I may say so," the employee stated. The couple stood up, said their goodbyes and headed for the exit.

As soon as they were on the street, Joséphine stopped Erik with a hand on his arm.

"Why did you do this?" she asked him, still bewildered.

He looked down on her, a small smile on his face. "You were the one that wanted everything to look as normal as possible."

"Giving his wife unlimited access to his money is not the standard," was her retort.

"I know, but should I get caught or should your stepmother find a way to deprive you of your heritage you would still have enough to live comfortable."

"I….you…alright," she stammered. She couldn't quite shake the feeling that his sudden generosity had something to do with the attack this morning. The longer she knew this man, the more questions popped into her mind. He was quite unpredictable, that she knew already. But there were so many other sides to him. She swore to herself to find out as much as possible about him.

Regaining her composure, she looked at him, then smiled. "Now let's go to the registry and finish this."


	11. The Registry

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. I chose to forgo the demand for witnesses at a wedding, it would complicate the story. I also did some editing on the previous chapters. Thanks for all the reviews I got until now!_

**THE REGISTRY**

The registry was at a 10 minutes walk from the bank, situated in the back of the Hôtel de Ville which, after the fire of 1871, had been wonderfully rebuilt. The outside resembled the 16th century Renaissance style, but the inside was in the functionality and splendour of the modern design. It housed most of the city's administration, a remnant of Napoleon's centralization.

Meanwhile there were a few more people out in the streets, and Erik wondered if Joséphine was blissfully unaware of the stares that followed them or if she just chose to ignore them.

When they arrived at the entrance, their path was blocked by a guard.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked, looking with disdain at Erik. What did an apparent lady like her want from a man like that? He only wore a shirt and trousers, so he didn't seem to be rich, nor was he handsome, from what he could see from the part of his face that wasn't hidden by the bandage.

Joséphine tapped impatiently with her left foot. "Well, what do you think, we are going to get married!" The guard looked at them, dumbfounded. Erik smiled at her continued defence of him. She was nothing if not feisty and bull-headed.

Even with the bandage, people tended to stare, and his dirty and dishevelled clothes did nothing to diminish this, and he was always torn between wanting to run and hide or to strangle them all, so he preferred to keep silent at the moment to not lose control.

"Do you look at all people who come here like that or is it just us? You are in no position to judge us," she reprimanded him, hands on her hips. Embarrassed, the guard stepped aside to let them pass, mumbling an excuse.

Inside the building, Joséphine let out a breath. When she proposed to Erik last night, she wasn't aware of the resistance they were going to face. She only had thought about her stepmother, who would have been against any man, no matter his looks, money or manners. It took all the strength she had to ignore the looks and to stand up to the people that wanted to turn them away.

But she was nothing if not headstrong, she had begun to walk this path, and she would stubbornly continue it, no matter what obstacles she happened to encounter on her way.

Even now, with his deformation masked as an injury, people stared. She still didn't know much of him, but nobody, not even an allegedly murderer like him, deserved a treatment like that only because of his complexion. No wonder he hid himself from the world for such a long time.

As if reading her thoughts, Erik spoke up. "It will always be like that. Society doesn't approve of people who are different, and no mask or bandage can hide what I am. They will ostracize you for associating with me. Are you sure that you are up to that?"

He gave her the chance to withdraw from their arrangement, if she backed out, he had to find another way to stay close to Christine, but he didn't want Joséphine to be unaware of the consequences of this union. She had treated him like a normal man, and for that he was grateful.

Joséphine stopped and looked at him. He seemed to be prepared for her rejection. She took a minute to let what he said sink in.

"You are right," she said, then stopped his retreat by taking his hand.

"It seems like there will always be people like this guard. And I saw the looks of some people on the streets. But when they learned at the bank that you were a wealthy client they were willing to overlook their first impression of you."

"Money seems to buy nearly everything," he said flatly.

She gave a nod at that. "I admit that I did not think my proposal totally through. But I am still in need of a husband, and we have come this far. I consider our agreement as some sort of contract: you help me keep my inheritance; I help you regain the woman you love. I already made the mistake once of not taking a contract seriously. I won't do it now." She looked at him expectantly.

Erik nodded in acquiescence and continued towards the registration office. Joséphine hurried to follow him.

Erik knocked, and after being called to enter, stepped through the door with Joséphine in tow. A corpulent man sat behind his desk, writing notes on some papers.

"Another marriage?" he asked them without looking up.

"Yes, Monsieur," Erik replied.

"Documents, please," the magistrate proceeded. Erik held a hand out for Joséphine's papers and laid them on the desk together with his own.

Finally, the functionary tore his gaze away from his papers and looked at the couple, paling at the sight of Erik.

"Uhm, are you sure, Mademoiselle?" he addressed Joséphine, his eyes darting between Erik's tall form and the young woman.

"I wouldn't be here otherwise," she said with a scowl on her face, clearly offended. The magistrate had the decency to blush at his improper behaviour, then regained his composure and invited them to sit down.

He took a look at their documents, and, finding nothing unusual, stood up to take a folder from the cabinet.

"Fill out these forms," he told them, feeling clearly uncomfortable in their presence, which made Erik scoot even closer to the desk. When they were finished, the man took them back and read them through, finding nothing to refuse them.

"Repeat after me, Monsieur," he looked at the form, "Perrault. I, Erik Perrault, take you to be my lawfully wedded wife. I vow to love you and care for you as long as we both shall live. I take you, with all your faults and strengths, as I offer myself to you with all my faults and strengths. I will help you when you need help, and turn to you when I need help. I choose you as the person with whom I will spend my life."

Erik did as requested then listened to Joséphine as she repeated the vows.

"I, Joséphine d'Escayrac, take you to be my lawfully wedded husband. I vow to love you and care for you as long as we both shall live. I take you, with all your faults and strengths, as I offer myself to you with all my faults and strengths. I will help you when you need help, and turn to you when I need help. I choose you as the person with whom I will spend my life."

She wasn't crying this time, but had a determined look on her face.

"Now sign the Register," he told them, earning a stern look from Erik, "please," he added.

When they were done, he set his signature under theirs and closed the folder.

"You are now legally married, I now ask you to leave, for I have work to do," he said as he put the folder away.

Joséphine's scowl deepened, finding the behaviour of the man clearly unprofessional, when Erik rose and stepped closer to him. The functionary nearly collided with the cabinet, frightened. Erik smirked and took the man's hand in his.

"Thank you Monsieur, it was a wonderful ceremony," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Then he turned abruptly and left the office. Joséphine rose and cast the magistrate, who stood visibly shaken next to the cabinet, one last reproachful look, then left as well. She found this display strangely amusing, considering that she had been terribly frightened of Erik this morning. But that was because of his actions, not his looks.

Erik awaited her outside the office, looking out one of the windows of the corridor. When he heard her approach, he turned to face her.

"You should have slapped him for the way he treated you, Erik," she told him.

"Believe me, I wanted to, but it would not have been wise."

They started down the hall towards the exit. Ignoring the guard on their way out, Joséphine first turned them right towards the bank of the Seine, but then, thinking that Erik might prefer a less crowded path, chose to head in the direction they had come from.

"I am sure that at the opera house you would have reacted differently," Joséphine continued in a whisper, not wanting somebody to listen in.

"Don't talk to me about the opera and things you know nothing about," Erik scolded her, picking up speed.

"If you want me to help you, you must tell me what happened there," she retorted.

"Not now," Erik said flatly, considering the matter closed.

Seeing that she couldn't get any more information out of him for the moment, she let it drop and fell into step next to him.

"Very well," she conceded, "let's go home and tell my stepmother the good news of my finding a husband in time."


	12. Coming Home

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._

**COMING HOME**

Erik had already deduced from the quality of her clothing that Joséphine came from one of the wealthy families that lived in the Faubourgs in the West of Paris. The neighbourhood they now passed through pointed out the same. The houses steadily became bigger; some could even be called mansions, with lawns and grounds around them.

Since it was still before midday, not many of the inhabitants of this quarter were out and about, the ladies of the houses either having a late breakfast or sleeping in, and the men out for business. Only some servants were on the streets, doing errands for their masters and casting sideways glances at the couple on their way.

When they passed through the Parc Monceau, Joséphine grabbed Erik and drew him to a bench somewhat of from the main walk. Bewildered, Erik looked at her as he sat down beside her.

"What is it?"

"We can't show up at my home without some background story about who you are. Clara knows that I needed a husband, but she will want to hear your reasons for marrying me. I take it that nobody is supposed to know that you are the Phantom of the Opera?"

She dropped her voice at that, and when he nodded in affirmation, she moved on.

"Then we need to explain your…condition, where you are from at what you do."

"That would be all?" Erik asked dryly.

"I am not asking you to reveal the truth about your past," she groaned, "but we must tell her something."

"Why does she need to know, you are married, she lost the money, and that's the end of it." Erik started to rise, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"We have been through this before, and you agreed to pose as my husband for a while. I don't want Clara to make the connection to the opera ghost. She will inform the authorities and they will take you away."

"That wouldn't be so bad for you, would it?" Erik accused her.

"What is your problem now?" Joséphine retorted frustrated.

"This whole thing was a stupid idea," Erik spat. "People look at me strangely with the bandage on my head, and they will become even more suspicious when I replace it by a mask. I will never be able to get close enough to Christine to…"

"Stop wallowing in pity Erik!" Joséphine yelled at him, then drew back, shivering under the infuriated look Erik shot her.

"I don't know what happened between you and this woman, but I heard some of the rumours. Did you ever consider that she refused you not only because of your looks but because of what you did or how you behaved? Playing a ghost at the opera, threatening the managers or God knows who else, murdering people: that is _definitely_ not the way to a woman's heart!"

Erik shot up from the bank, fighting the urge to harm her for yelling at him like this. He walked a few meters, clenching his hands, trying to calm down. She was right, he had given her a promise. And what she said about Christine…could she be right about that?

He wanted Christine to see him as a normal man, worthy of her, able to walk among people. At the church he had been sure that this could work, but ever since the wedding was official and they had started traversing half of Paris in broad daylight, the constant stares of the people unsettled his already unstable psychic condition even more, and he started to see nothing but the flaws of this plan.

Erik stiffened when he felt Joséphine's hand on his shoulder. Softly, she turned him around to face her.

"I can only imagine how hard it is to expose yourself like this. You did this to help me, now please, let me help you." She lifted her hand to the bandage, when Erik didn't flinch, she touched it lightly.

"We say it was an illness, an infection you contracted somewhere. Have you been anywhere besides Paris?" she asked him.

"I've been in Persia," Erik admitted.

"Oh, that's…have you been to a harem? Have you seen…," she caught herself, knowing he didn't want her to pry, but he could see her mind spinning stories, and he asked himself how far they might be from the truth.

"I'm sorry, my curiosity often gets the better of me," Joséphine smiled. Erik had to nod at that, which made her blush. "I always wanted to accompany my father on his journeys, but I was never allowed to. There must be so many wonderful places on this planet, don't you think?" Erik said nothing, and she blushed even more, knowing she had become distracted from the subject at hand.

"Well, that is for another time. What will you say is your profession?" she asked him.

"Architect," Erik said truthfully.

Joséphine's eyes widened. "Are you an architect for real?"

When he nodded, she couldn't resist knowing more. "Are there buildings here in Paris you designed?"

'Besides the Opera Garnier?' Erik was tempted to say, but thought better of it. "The Bataclan is based on my ideas, as is the Theatre Marigny."

Joséphine let out a small gasp. "Those are beautiful, I….that's amazing, Erik." It felt good to get some recognition, even if it was just from one person.

"So, the only thing left is the reason why you chose to marry me," Joséphine concluded.

"That should be obvious," Erik said.

Joséphine didn't say anything, so he elaborated. "It's a marriage of convenience, you needed a husband, and I never thought to find a wife the way I look. Your stepmother won't expect us to have fallen in love, won't she?" Joséphine smiled.

"No, she won't. But between you and me, we could try for friendship for the duration of this union, right?" Erik nodded, and they left the park to finally get to Joséphine's house.

The home of Joséphine d'Escayrac was definitely one of the mansions in the neighbourhood. It was a two storied neo-classical building with a small front garden and iron-wrought gates.

"Your father is a scientist, how can he afford this?" Erik asked, impressed.

"Well, he's a Marquis, and his father left him quite the fortune," Joséphine explained sheepishly.

Erik looked at her, at a loss for words. Then suddenly he started laughing, startling Joséphine with the sound of it. "You are a marquise?"

"No, my stepmother is, I am but the daughter of a Marquis, and when my father dies, the title will die with him," Joséphine told him.

This was brilliant. Christine had left with a Vicomte and he went to marry the daughter of a Marquis. This whole adventure seemed to have some irony he couldn't explain to it.

"You are not going to tell me what is so amusing, right?" She didn't wait for an answer.

"Wait here for a moment, I'll be right back." Before Erik could reply, she had run off to the servant's entrance.

Left there alone on the streets, his self-awareness returned tenfold. Joséphine had become quite used to him in this short time, and ever since they had met the last night, she had never left his side. Standing here now, with a bandage to hide his hideous face, and the clothes from yesterday he felt completely out of place.

Thankfully, before his thoughts could walk further down that path, Joséphine returned, carrying a chocolate brown jacket and a cloth brush in her hands. "I asked my maid to get one of my father's jackets. It should look good with your pants," she explained, while starting to brush off his pants, carefully avoiding a certain part of it. The colour fit, but it was a bit too big. Nonetheless, it definitely improved his appearance.

Josephine threw the used brush in direction of the servant's entrance, than looked up at Erik with a sly smile. "Fine, this will work. Let's face the dragon, shall we?"

No sooner had they entered the house through the main door, as a tall and slender woman, in clothes even more expensive than Joséphine's appeared. She had to be in her early thirties, her blond hair was pulled back in the latest fashion and her make-up was perfectly applied. She was beautiful, but she had an air to her that made her lose all her attractiveness. Ignoring Erik, she walked up to Joséphine and slapped her in the face.

"You better not sneak out like this again," Clara yelled, her face contorted in fury. "Or I promise you I…," she raised her hand again, but Erik, stepping in front of Joséphine, caught her arm. It was only then that Clara seemed to register his presence.

"You better not try to strike my wife again," Erik said dangerously.

Clara paled and took a step back. "Wife?" she stammered.

"Yes, wife," Joséphine said with a smirk, clearly enjoying the confusion and then the anger that showed in Clara's eyes at the implications of this.

Soon enough though, la Marquise d'Escayrac regained her composure. "So, where did you find him?" Taking a turn around Erik to get a closer look, she drawled on. "Somewhere in gutter?"

"No, I had to beat him on the head to convince him to marry me, Clara," Joséphine replied sarcastically.

"How else would you find a husband, wouldn't you?" Clara sneered.

"Actually, he was the answer to my prayers, as if sent from heaven," Joséphine retorted. 'Or hell' thought Erik by himself.

"This…this will not work Joséphine, I assure you, you will not come between me and your father's money," Clara threatened her.

"Au contraire," Joséphine replied, "It is you who will not get between me and my inheritance. I fulfilled Papa's contract just as he wanted me to do. He didn't tell me who to marry, and I assure you, that we are legally wed."

She took Erik's hand and stepped up to the stairs at the right side of the foyer. "Besides, weren't you always the one who said you had fallen in love with Papa at first sight? Who says it wasn't the same between Erik and me?"

Leaving Clara speechless at the vestibule, the couple disappeared at the first floor.


	13. Living Arrangements

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._

**LIVING ARRANGEMENTS**

Joséphine led him to her room, where she immediately dropped on a chaise by the window and let out a breath. "This woman, she's….!" Erik had stopped next to the door and was watching her intently.

"Are you alright?" he asked. She lifted her hand to her cheek, cooling the sting from the slap.

"Yes, it is nothing. The fact that she dared to hit me hurts actually more than the slap itself," Joséphine explained.

"Where do we go from here?" Erik asked her, moving further into the room, until he arrived in front of her. Kneeling down, he took her hand away from the cheek to investigate the small red bruise that began manifesting itself.

Joséphine looked out the window, thinking through her options.

"I don't want to go the Master bedroom, it belongs to my father, and he will need it when he returns. Besides, I don't think Clara would want to give it up. There is a spare room next to mine, connected through the door over there." She tilted her head towards the door, then turned and faced Erik again. "That is if you don't want to share my room as it would be your right as my husband." She blushed, glancing away.

Erik looked at her, surprised. "No, I will not bother you with my presence more than is necessary," he replied resolutely.

"You're not…," Joséphine started, but kept to herself as she saw Erik's expression. He would not be dissuaded so easily from thinking his person would perturb others. "Never mind."

Joséphine got up and rang a bell next to the bed. Only minutes later there was a knock on the door and a maid entered. She was of about the same age as Joséphine, and resembled her also in stature. Her black hair was tightly pulled back in a bun, and her servants' clothes were impeccable.

She curtsied and addressed Joséphine with warmth in her voice "What can I do for you, Milady?"

"Mathilde, this is my husband, Erik Perrault."

"That's what the jacket was for!" she exclaimed. "I am so glad you did manage to find one in time, congratulations!" Mathilde turned to curtsy to Erik, trying hard not to stare at him, but failing miserably.

"Mathilde," Joséphine said exasperated.

"I'm sorry Jo…Milady," Mathilde replied, curtsying once more.

"Is my stepmother in the sewing room?" Joséphine asked.

"Yes, she called for the solicitor and is waiting for his arrival. She seems quite upset," the maid replied, stifling a smirk.

"Very well. I want you to prepare the adjoining room for my husband, and please prepare me a bath," Joséphine instructed her. Nodding, Mathilde turned to leave the room, but was stopped by Joséphine calling out once more.

"You don't need to call me Milady in front of Erik, he won't mind." Mathilde turned her head and nodded.

"Alright Joséphine." Smiling, she left the room.

"You two are friends," Erik stated.

"Yes, she is the only one of my age in this house, and we grew very close in the past months," Joséphine told him. "Would you like a tour of the house in the meanwhile?"

"That would be fine," Erik replied.

* * *

The house was marvellous, and Erik was most impressed by the library and the small music room. It had a small piano in one corner, as well as a violin and some flutes.

"Do you play?" Erik asked his wife, intrigued.

"Only the piano, and not very well," she responded. "My father plays the violin and the flutes. The piano was my mothers," she elaborated.

Erik went to investigate the instrument, finding it well tuned. He sat down and started playing, soon loosing himself in the melody, not noticing the reaction he elicited from Joséphine. When he heard her sob, he stopped abruptly.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed, searching the folds of her dress for a handkerchief. "I didn't want to interrupt you. The melody was just so sad…"

Before Erik could respond, they were interrupted by Mathilde appearing at the door.

"Joséphine, the solicitor has arrived and asked to see the documents of your marriage," she informed her friend and employer.

Blowing her nose, Joséphine nodded and turned to Erik, who had stood up from the piano and was striding towards her.

"I am disinclined to hand the documents over to Clara without being present, do you care to join me?" she asked Erik who shook his head.

"I rather retreat to my room, I need to consider an appropriate replacement for this," he said quietly, motioning towards the bandage.

"Very well. Tell Mathilde if you need anything and one of the servants will get it for you." Erik nodded, then left with Mathilde following him to the upper floors.

Steeling herself for the next confrontation with Clara, Joséphine drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Determined she walked towards the sewing room on the other side of the house.

* * *

"Ah, there you are, Mademoiselle d'Escayrac," the solicitor welcomed her. He was a man of around 50, with a protruding belly and a full beard that had more and more grey in it every time she saw him. His small brown eyes were sparkling behind round glasses, his hair was neatly trimmed. He was a good man who had managed all legal affairs of her family since she was a child.

"It is Madame Perrault now, Monsieur Hublot," she told him, offering her hand. "I trust you and your family are well?"

"Very well indeed," he answered merrily, kissing her hand. "Forgive my slip, Madame, I have only just been informed that you got married."

When Clara cleared her throat, both turned their attention towards her. She throned in her favourite chair by the window, her sewing kit resting next to her. "Please, take a seat Monsieur Hublot," Clara said friendly, ignoring Joséphine who remained standing not far from the door.

The solicitor installed himself on the fauteuil across from her. "Ah, yes, thank you Marquise. In the letter you sent to me you asked me to look over some documents?" he inquired.

Shifting in her seat and casting a dismissive glance towards her stepdaughter, Clara started to explain. "Yes, I want you to look over her marriage papers, to see if they are in order."

"But why shouldn't..." his demand was stopped by the angry look Clara shot him.

"Just do it."

"Very well," the solicitor said, uncomfortable. "Madame, would you please hand me the papers?" he addressed Joséphine. She did as he asked, and waited for him to confirm their legality.

After a few minutes, the solicitor looked up, smiling at Joséphine, then turning to Clara.

"There is nothing amiss with these papers, your daughter is legally wed," he informed Clara, who looked crestfallen. "May I offer my congratulations, Madame Perrault, and inquire after the whereabouts of your husband?"

"He will be moving in here with us, so he is overseeing the preparations of his room. He wants everything to be according to his wishes," Joséphine replied.

"Oh, it is never wrong to demand accuracy. How long have you two known each other?" Monsieur Hublot carried on, not noticing Clara's head jerking up and her eyes fixing on Joséphine.

"Not very long, actually, but we soon had an understanding, and our feelings towards each other are mutual."

"Is he of a wealthy family?" the solicitor continued asking her.

"He is the only one left of his family, but he is quite wealthy. He works as an architect and gets very well paid." Monsieur Hublot got up to bow before Joséphine.

"I am glad to hear you are well. With his money and the heritage you are gaining access to due to your marriage you are well cared for, Madame." He turned towards Clara. "Is there anything else you want me to look over?"

"No," Clara said shortly, forgetting etiquette and not getting up.

"I wish you both a good day then. Marquise, Madame." Bowing once more, Monsieur Hublot left the room, leaving the two women alone staring at each other.

After a while, Joséphine broke the uncomfortable silence. "I am sorry how this had to happen, but you left me no choice."

"No choice but to marry the first man crossing your path after you sneaked out you little viper?" Clara accused her.

Staying calm in spite of the insult Joséphine continued. "Not the first man, no, but, given the circumstances, a good choice."

"What's with the bandage?" Clara spat.

"He contracted a severe illness while working abroad, leaving him scarred for life. Sometimes, there is an infection and to avoid further spreading, he needs the bandage." Joséphine elaborated.

"It is nothing contagious, I hope," Clara remarked, still searching for something to nullify the marriage.

"No, it is not, you have nothing to fear. If you will excuse me now, I will see to my husband."

"You do know that you will have to sleep with him to consummate the marriage? Are you prepared to offer yourself to a blemished man, to look at his scars when he takes your body for his pleasure?" Clara sneered, stopping Joséphine at the door.

Joséphine turned around to face her, her face flushed more from anger than embarrassment. "I know very well what my duties as a wife are. His scars don't scare me, I made my choice. You lost, Clara, accept it."

* * *

Nearly running up the stairs, Joséphine tried to calm down again before seeing Erik. She didn't want him to know how much Clara's words had troubled her. She knew that she had to bed him, but she was more scared about it because she had to sleep with a man she didn't love and who didn't love her back than because of his appearance. She did not think that love would ever find its way into this marriage, but if they succeeded at becoming friends, she would be more than content.

Entering what was to become Erik's room, she was surprised to find it prepared but empty. Ringing for Mathilde, she passed through the connecting door to see if he was perhaps in her chambers, but he wasn't there either. When Mathilde appeared, she asked her if she had seen her husband.

"He went to retrieve some of his things, he informed me. But he told me to give you this," handing her an unsealed envelope.

"You haven't read it, have you, Mathilde?" Joséphine asked her, sitting down on the bed. Mathilde blanched.

"Oh, I would never do such a thing, Joséphine. You know me better than that!"

"Yes I do, forgive me."

"Can I ask you a question, Joséphine?" Mathilde asked timidly, approaching her friend.

Nodding, Joséphine told her to continue. "Are you not afraid of him? I don't want to pry, but I find Monsieur Perrault rather threatening."

"Never speak ill of him again, I won't tolerate it," Joséphine said sternly. "Erik is imposing, but beneath his cold behaviour is fine man, and if I'm the only one to see, then well, so be it."

"I am sorry for offending you, I am. You know I only wish you the best," Mathilde offered sheepishly.

"I know," Joséphine conceded. "Leave me now." Curtsying, Mathilde left, leaving her alone.

Joséphine opened the note Erik had left her, wondering about its contents.

_Joséphine,_

_I left to acquire the materials I need for a mask myself, I do not trust anyone but myself with it. I will also fetch some of my possessions, which may take some time. Do not wait up for me.  
_

_Erik_

So he had gone out. She guessed the reason why he didn't come to tell her in person was that she was occupied with Clara and Monsieur Hublot and that he didn't want to interrupt. At least he was so considerate to leave a note.

Knowing that she wasn't up to facing Clara once more alone, she decided to stay in her room for the rest of the day after her bath and have dinner brought to her. Clara didn't seem to mind either, for she didn't ask for the cause of her absence from the table.

Occupying herself with a good book, time passed and Joséphine grew tired. The ordeal of the last days finally caught up with her. Even if she wanted to wait up for Erik, she wasn't able to. Succumbing to deep sleep, she never heard when Erik came back.


	14. A New Mask

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._

**A NEW MASK**

When Joséphine woke the next day, she rested in bed for a few minutes, thinking of how her life would change now that she was married. Apparently not that much in the beginning, she concluded. She would still have her room, as Erik preferred to have his own, and going to balls or any other social event with her husband wouldn't be possible until the gossip about the events in the opera had subsided somewhat and nobody would make the connection between her masked husband and the opera ghost.

But since she had spent the last year confined to this house because of Clara's interference, it wouldn't be that much of a difference. Clara would surely be viler than ever having lost the lot of the money, but she wouldn't back down anymore. She now had the upper hand and she sure would make use of it.

Finally, she got up from the bed and decided to check on Erik. Slipping on her dressing gown she strode towards the connecting door and knocked. When there was no sound coming from Erik's room, she knocked again, trying not to think about the possibility that Erik might not have come back after he had left last afternoon.

Deciding to ring for Mathilde, she turned and walked back to her bed, when she suddenly heard the connecting door opening. Whirling around, she came face to face with Erik, who was now impeccably dressed in a fashionable black suit and a green embroidered vest, making his tall form look less thin. He had also donned another bandage to hide the right side of his face.

"Forgive me for not answering your knock right away," he began, "but I was busy applying another layer to my mask, and it acquired my utmost attention."

Joséphine simply continued to stare at him, astounded how different he could look in the right clothes. He seemed to hold himself straighter, demanding respect. Gone was the caged animal look he had had in his worn clothes, when she had met him in the church.

At last, Joséphine thought to answer. "Good…good morning." Erik looked at her strangely, not knowing the source of her irritation.

"Did you sleep well?" he inquired.

"Yes, I did. I actually just rose," she replied hastily. "Can I…may I take a look at what you are doing?" she asked him timidly.

Erik thought about it for a moment, and then nodded in agreement. "If you wish it. Come," he said, striding back to his room.

The first thing Joséphine noticed was the rather big half emptied trunk next to the wardrobe. The bed seemed untouched, she wondered if Erik had slept at all or if he had made it himself. The desk was placed next to the window to have better light, upon it stood an old, tattered music box in the shape of a barrel-organ with the figure of a monkey playing the cymbals attached to it, and some jars of various contents, some of them opened.

Erik placed another chair next to the desk and motioned for her to sit down. With only his fingertips, he picked the unfinished mask up from the desk and handed it carefully to Joséphine, who stared at it in wonder.

It had a striking resemblance to a human face and was surprisingly heavy. Once finished it would cover the whole forehead, the right side of the face down to the chin and part of the nose. The eyehole was still missing though and it was of an odd grey-green colour.

Joséphine tentatively let her fingertips grace the surface, which had not yet totally dried. She looked at Erik. "You did all this in one night?" she asked him, overwhelmed by the talent that manifested itself in this piece of art.

"Well, it is not finished. I still need to find the right colour to fit it with my skin tone, cut out the eyehole and place a layer of gauze on the inside. It would chafe on my skin otherwise, since I will constantly be wearing it," Erik explained.

"This really is extraordinary. I would never have thought…"

"That something like this could be done by an abhorrent monster like me?" Erik interrupted her angrily, taking the mask back and placing it on the table.

Joséphine's eyes widened. "No! That is not what I was going to say, Erik! Stop making this constant conclusions, and stop calling yourself a monster, I will not have it!" Joséphine exclaimed.

"But this is what I am," Erik barked. "What did you want to say then?" he sneered, looking at her challenging.

"I never thought that all this could be done in only a few hours, that was what I was going to say before you jumped to conclusions."

When it became clear that Erik would not vocally acknowledge her explanation, she continued. "How long will it take you to finish it?"

"Still a few days, I suppose," Erik finally said. "Besides, I do not think it wise to change from the bandage to a mask that soon."

"Probably not," Joséphine admitted. "I hope wearing the bandage is not too uncomfortable."

"My sight is slightly reduced, but otherwise it doesn't bother me much."

Joséphine couldn't imagine being forced to always hide part of her face behind a mask or anything else, but she refrained from voicing her thoughts, not wanting to indulge further into the matter.

"I do hope that you will have dinner with me and Clara tonight," Joséphine said. "It would not look too good if my husband stayed in his room all the time.

"Very well," Erik conceded, grabbing a pencil, indicating that he considered the conversation over.

Shaking her head slightly, Joséphine got up and went to the door to her room. Before closing it, she turned once more.

"Really Erik, it is impressive what you are doing here. You really should take a well-meant compliment once in a while." Closing the door, she left Erik looking thoughtfully after her.


	15. Letters And Newspapers

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart.  
_

**LETTERS AND NEWSPAPERS**

After a long and relaxing bath, Joséphine went finally downstairs for some breakfast. Mathilde had informed her that Clara had gone out and would not be expected back before dinner. Grateful for the peace she was going to have for the day, she installed herself on the desk in the library for some long-neglected correspondence.

She wrote a letter to her friend Louisette, who over a year ago had moved to Indochina with her husband, who was in the military. She had written her of her situation when Clara had started imprisoning her, asking for help, but there had not been much that she could do, being so far away.

Joséphine had some other friends in Paris too, but Clara had tried from the beginning of her confinement to intercept all communication, explaining that the illness she had come down with had also affected her mental stability and she therefore was incapable to write or to receive visitors.

Isolated from the rest of the world, Joséphine had become very close to her maid Mathilde, who tried everything within her limits to help her, but she feared too much for her position and did not dare to openly support Joséphine.

The main problem had been that she did not know what to do once she would have escaped from the house. Given the rumours Clara had spread about her sanity, she could not have just arrived at the doorsteps of one of her unmarried acquaintances begging him to marry her. Months had passed without finding a way out of her predicament.

When she had secretly left the house after dinner two nights ago, she had not really had an idea what to do or where to go. She saw her only option in the many workhouses spread throughout the town, and to seek out a man who preferably did not reek of alcohol or was addicted to any other drugs, and to offer him a fair amount of money in exchange for marrying her.

But, gathering strength in a church for the task that lay before her, she had encountered Erik. He himself had admitted being a murderer, and he certainly had a violent streak, which she had experienced herself first hand last morning, but still, she did not consider him outright dangerous.

She could only imagine how people had treated him in his past because of his deformation, making him misanthrope and distrustful towards mankind. But besides his sometimes rude and taciturn behaviour, he had more or less treated her with the utmost respect. He certainly was incredibly intelligent, and talented in various arts. Mathilde had told her all the rumours of the past months about the opera singer and her tutor, a genius with a dangerous obsession for the young girl. She could see that Erik was completely broken-hearted and she really wanted to hear his side of the story and hoped that one day he would trust her enough to confide in her.

At last, she wrote a letter to her father, as she had done regularly since he had left three years ago. She would never give up hope that he would one day return to her.

_Cher Papa,_

_I have the most interesting news. Two days ago, I got married, fulfilling the contract we made all those years ago.  
_

_You ask yourself how I finally met someone when I was not permitted to leave the house or receive visitors? Well, since my 25th birthday was almost upon me, I sneaked out two days ago, in search for help or a possible husband. I found Erik.  
_

_He is an architect and musician, and quite complicated. He suffers from a broken heart and agreed to marry me to start anew.  
_

_Do I love him? No, but we get along. I actually prefer him a thousand times to someone dull who would only agree to marry me because of my money. Erik has enough on his own. He even gave me access to his account!  
_

_Papa, I wish you were here in Paris again. Maybe then Clara would become nicer again. She changed so much since you left!  
_

_I really hope that you are well and that you will soon find a way to return safely to us.  
_

_Your loving daughter,_

_Joséphine_

She had thought first of telling her father of the true identity of her husband, but even though she gave no promise to Erik, she did not dare to reveal his secret.

Getting up from behind the desk, she looked at the clock upon the mantelpiece of the fireplace. It was a little past two o' clock and she still had the whole afternoon to spend.  
She wanted to go out in the park, or do some shopping, since it had been a long time she was able to do as such.

Passing by the vestibule, her eyes fell on the newspaper on the small table near the staircase. Her father used to take it from there to read it wherever it pleased him, and even though he wasn't here, the servants would always leave it on its foreseen place.

The front page had a big picture of the burning opera house and Joséphine's interest was instantly peaked. She grabbed the newspaper and headed to the salon.

Plunging herself in an armchair next to the unlit fireplace, she unfolded the paper and began to read.

Above the picture of the opera stood in big letters:

_CATASTROPHE AT THE POPULAIRE, 6 PEOPLE DEAD! MONSTER KIDNAPS PRIMA DONNA._ _Read more at page 2 and 3._

Opening the journal, the first thing she noticed was a sketch that should probably portray Erik. The coloured drawing showed a heavily disfigured man. The corpse-like face had sunken, burning golden eyes and missed the nose, only a few strands of black hair covered his head. It resembled more a skull than the picture of a living man.

If everybody thought that the Phantom of the Opera looked like this, Erik had a good chance to stay undiscovered, Joséphine thought somewhat relieved.

But the more she read of the article, the more she wanted to hear Erik's version of the events. Did he know that his actions had caused the deaths of so many people? Was he even affected by the murders he had committed? What had happened between the kidnapping from stage and the reappearance of the singer and the Vicomte?

Both, Mademoiselle Daée and the Vicomte de Chagny had refused to give a statement to the press, but the police had confirmed that the opera ghost was still alive and they were looking for the monster throughout the town and the area surrounding Paris. People were warned to get closer to him for he was very dangerous.

Placing the newspaper with trembling hands on a table next to her, she fell back in the chair, breathing heavily. She knew at least some of the information in the article had to be true, but what had really occurred that night only three people seemed to know. Erik was one of them and she tried hard to get control over her curiosity and not seek out Erik immediately and demand answers.

Why did this article shock her so? Erik had told her of his dark side from the beginning, she had always known that he had committed murder, but the person described in the paper seemed a dark, cold-blooded monster, and the Erik she had come to know in this short time was most of the time a perfect gentlemen.

Stilling her trembling hands, she tried to clear her mind, and chose to speak to Erik after dinner.


	16. The Dinner

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._  
_Thanks to my betas!_

**THE DINNER**

A knock on the door distracted Erik from his work. A young maid opened it timidly, not daring to look at him.

"Dinner will be served in 20 minutes, Monsieur." As soon as she had delivered her message, she closed the door and hurried away.

Taking out his pocket watch, he saw that he had once more passed a whole day engrossed in his work, neglecting anything else. In protest of this, his stomach gave a loud rumble.

He finished the layer he had been working on, and put the mask aside. Changing clothes, he verified once more that the bandage would hide as much as possible from his twisted features and strode towards the exit.

A glance at the connecting door made him change direction. Knocking softly, he waited for Joséphine's reply, then entered.

"I am nearly ready, we can go down shortly," she informed him with her head bent over a jewel case, her back turned towards him. When she had found what she had been looking for, she finally turned and he could see her in full.

She wore a simple, but beautiful dark green dress with a small bustle. It was short sleeved, with a rather low décolleté, but was still decent enough for a formal dinner dress. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun with some strands falling gently down the side of her face and against her neck.

The colour of the dress increased the olive of her eyes and gave them a cat-like gleam, and for the first time Erik noticed that she was indeed a beautiful woman.

Installing herself in front of the vanity mirror, Joséphine tried to put a small silver necklace with a pendant around her neck.

"Let me help you," Erik offered, approaching her.

"I'm fine," she replied, closing the fastening and smiling satisfied. Erik opened the door and let them out.

"Shall we?" he said, offering her his arm to escort her down the stairs.

She took his arm with some hesitation, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Erik, but he attributed her apparent nervousness to the impending dinner with her stepmother.

When they arrived in the dining room, Clara was already seated at the table, sipping on a glass of white wine. She greeted them with a nod, but spoke not a word.

As soon as they were seated, soup was served. The young servant that had informed Erik of dinner time nearly tripped over her feet because she was staring at the new master, earning herself a stern glance from both Joséphine and Erik. Otherwise, the first course passed by without another incident.

When the main course was served, Clara decided to open the conversation.

"Do tell Monsieur Perrault, will you continue working as an architect?"

"Why would I not?" Erik asked, not understanding. Ignoring Joséphine's look, Clara continued.

"Well, with all the money you gain through this marriage, you will no longer need to earn your living."

Erik considered his answer for a few seconds. "It is true that as Joséphine's husband, her money belongs legally to me, but since she was given it by her father as heritage, not as dowry, I will not touch it and content myself with what I owned before." Concentrating on Clara's reaction, Erik did not register the strange look Joséphine gave him.

"Joséphine told me that you had no living relatives?"

"That is correct," Erik answered, though Joséphine saw him hesitate before answering. She wondered if he had severed contact with them, or if he had been cast away.

"Where did your family live?" Clara pried on, clearly unsatisfied with Erik's short responses.

"I was born in Rouen."

"And this," she gestured towards his bandage, "what happened that you must hide your face behind a bandage?" She clearly wanted Erik to confirm the story Joséphine had told her yesterday in the sewing room.

Erik cast a glance towards his wife, who nodded for him to continue.

"A sickness, it happened a long time ago. The wounds never healed properly and sometimes get infected, as is the case now."

"May I see it?" Clara asked, leaning forward.

Erik shook his head. "You must understand that I prefer not to show my disfigurement to everyone, it tends to let people make hasty judgements about my person."

"And hiding half of your face will not?" Clara challenged him.

Troubled by the way the conversation was going, Joséphine was not willing to let it go any further. Grabbing his hand on the table, she looked straight at Clara, trying to defy her.

"I have seen him, and I accept him as he is. That should be enough for you, and anybody else in this house." The last was directed at the servants who had entered to take the dishes away.

They waited in silence for the dessert. Joséphine gasped in surprise when the cook arrived herself, followed by two kitchen maids who carried a tray with two covers. She curtsied to each of them before addressing Joséphine.

"Madame, as always on your birthday, I made you your favourite cake." She gestured towards the maids, who lifted the first cover, revealing a small chocolate gateau.

"But," she continued, smiling from ear to ear, "this is not the only event we have to celebrate this evening. In honour of your wedding, all the servants wish to offer their congratulations, and present you a wedding cake." The second cover was lifted, showing an equally small tart, but this time two-layered, decorated with white cream and a picture of two joined rings on the top.

Clara had trouble hiding her disapproval, but Joséphine was moved to tears by this gesture, that was surely also meant as a welcome for Erik in the house. Erik rose, but let his hand rest under Joséphine's on the table.

"My wife is deeply moved by your thoughtfulness, and I would like to speak a toast on her behalf." He raised his glass, and invited the servants for a drink as well, shocking Clara even more with this.

"To my wife, Joséphine; a light that found me in a dark hour."

Joséphine looked at him, troubled by the ambivalent man at her side. Could a man who spoke such kind words in her praise be the same whose actions had caused so much horror? She could no longer wait to talk to him, so she excused both of them with a shy smile soon after the toast and the tasting of the cake.

As they walked up the stairs, she spoke up. "I need to talk to you." He looked at her.

"Can't it wait until tomorrow? I have work to do and I need to go out," Erik replied.

"It is important, Erik, please."

"If it will not take too long, very well," he conceded, and followed her into her room. He sat himself in the chaise next to the window, while Joséphine chose to remain standing, wondering how to start.

"What is it, tell me," Erik finally spoke, somewhat impatiently.

"I…I want you to tell me what happened at the opera," Joséphine blurted out hastily. Erik stood up.

"I do not wish to talk about it." He strode towards the connecting door, but she stepped in his way.

"Please, I need to hear it from you," she said pleadingly. Erik looked down on her with a scowl on his face.

"Why now, was Clara's curiosity contagious?"

"What? No, I…," she moved passed him, trusting him to stay where he was and retrieved something from the bedside table. As she walked back to him, he could see that it was a newspaper.

"There is a big article about what happened a few nights back," she stated, handing him the journal to read.

His eyes darted over the paper, taking in the sketch, and the accounts of the witnesses. Finished, he looked at his wife again who watched him carefully for any reaction.

"Everything you want to know is in there, why do you want to talk to me?" He handed her back the journal and continued the way towards his room. Nearly at the door, he heard her reply.

"Because they describe you as a monster and I…the man I got to know and that man described in the article, how can they be the same?"

He turned to face her. Tears stood in her eyes, her emotional turmoil finally overwhelming her. "I just want to understand. Please, Erik, tell me your side of the story."

'What would it really cost me to tell her,' he thought. Maybe he could make her understand what made him do what he did, thinking her to be open enough to not judge him prematurely.

He gave a small nod and went back to the seat at the window. Joséphine rewarded him with a small smile, and installed herself on the bed, looking at him.

"I don't know where to start. You probably will not like what you are going to hear," Erik began hesitantly.

"I prefer it to not knowing at all," she replied. "You don't have to reveal everything, just enough to help me understand," she added, seeing his struggle. Erik took a few minutes to order his thoughts, than started his account.

"When you asked me yesterday if there were any buildings here in Paris I helped design, I left out the Opera Populaire. Charles Garnier was the main architect, yes, but to achieve the best sound for the audience, he asked for my expertise," he added, seeing her surprised eyes.

"I took the opportunity to design a home for me under the opera itself. Then, one day, a little girl came to the opera house. She was orphaned and had an excellent voice. I decided to tutor her."

He continued telling her how he had shown himself to her as the Angel of Music her father had told her of, and how the little girl had grown into the beautiful young woman he had fallen in love with. How he had done everything to make her return the love he had for her, but was bested by the young Vicomte she had known since her childhood.

"In the end, I couldn't force her to love me," he concluded. "I am not worthy of love," he added in a whisper, not wanting the woman in front of him to hear his resignation.

But she had heard, though she chose not to reply to it immediately. Instead, she steered the conversation towards another topic that had troubled her ever since she had met Erik.

"What about the people who died?" she asked him.

"It is most unfortunate that the fire I caused led to the death of all these people. I admit to have acted slightly insane after Christine ripped the mask from me on stage for everyone to see," he told her remorsefully.

"And the others they say you killed?"

Erik averted his gaze. "The stagehand came too close to me. He was an annoying person, a drunkard, leering at the dancers at every opportunity. As for Piangi, he was in the way," he confessed, his voice not betraying any emotion.

Joséphine's hand moved forward and touched his chin, forcing him to look at her.

"But did they deserve to die?" she asked him, searching his face.

"Not really," he gave in.

After a few moments, Joséphine spoke, her voice full of emotion. "You cannot make undone what happened, but admitting your errors is the best way to become a better man, Erik."

Surprising him, she rose from the bed and embraced him. Shocked as he was that she once more was willingly touching him, he could not shake off the feeling that it felt good to be that close to her.

Letting him go, Joséphine sat back on the bed again, a blush creeping on her cheeks. "Thank you for telling me, I appreciate it," she told him.

"Thank you for hearing me out without judging me beforehand," he replied, and stood up.

"I wish you a good sleep, Erik," she said, thinking he would retire to his rooms.

"I will go out," he stated, his composure back in place.

"But, where to? All the magazines are closed now, you can't buy anything you might need for your mask before tomorrow morning," Joséphine wondered.

"I…," he stammered, not knowing how to explain.

"Please tell me," she said.

"I need to see her, I'll go…,"

"You're going to the Chagny Estate?" Joséphine asked him, bewildered. "What do you hope to achieve from that?"

"I need to know what she finds in him. Maybe, after I made my way into these circles with your help, I can persuade her to change her mind and choose me instead." Erik justified himself.

"You…maybe it is you who needs to change," Joséphine cried out.

"What?" he growled, his mood darkening instantly.

"You're only endangering yourself by going near her so soon. And you will gain nothing by it," she tried to persuade him.

"I still…,"

"Don't you see? That obsessive streak is what makes it impossible for her, for any woman to fall in love with you!"

"How dare you talk to me like that!" Erik shouted, advancing on her, barely controlling himself.

"Well, somebody needs to!" she retorted.

"But I don't need to listen!" he yelled, walking to the door and slamming it shut behind him. She heard him put the lock in place, there was no use in following him.

This sudden change left her completely dumbstruck. How had this talk gone from forming a bond through understanding to a shouting match? Going through the conversation again in her mind, she changed into her night clothes and sat down in front of the vanity to brush out her hair. With surprise she noticed the package lying on it. How long had it been there, and who was it from? Tearing the paper away, she revealed a book with photographs and travel accounts from Persia. The dedication on the first side was from her husband.

_To inspire your imagination, until one day you will go and see all these places for real.  
Happy birthday,  
Erik_

Staring in disbelieve at this beautiful present, she broke down. The past few days had been more trying than anything she had ever experienced. The enigma that was her husband would take some time to solve, and she hoped to have the strength for it.


	17. Plans and Feelings

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._  
_Thanks go to my betas._

**PLANS AND STIRRINGS**

Five weeks had passed since that night and everyone in the house had adjusted to the new circumstances. Ever since their heated argument on her birthday, Erik and Joséphine had limited their conversations to polite small talk, carefully avoiding any delicate subjects that might disturb the uneasy peace between them (such as the whereabouts of her father and everything about Christine).

By now, Erik had replaced the bandage for the flesh-coloured mask that matched nearly perfectly with his features, and was almost invisible from afar. When he had presented the mask to Joséphine before going down to breakfast, she was amazed by his talent.

He had also taken to wearing a wig again in a lighter colour similar to his natural hair, rather than the one worn during his time spent at the opera. But even with both mask and wig on, he still looked different to others; he was still exceptionally pale, although his skin had lost some of its greyish tinge.

Clara was clearly surprised the first time she saw him without the bandage, not instantly registering the mask, which spoke for the excellent craftsmanship Erik had accomplished.

Slowly, Joséphine was able to persuade Erik not to hide all the time in his quarters while at home. Clara had once asked him if he had reconsidered his decision to continue working as an architect, for she rarely saw him leave the house. He answered that he had taken to letting the blueprints be delivered to his clients, and allowing other architects to oversee the construction of the buildings he designed.

That evening, Clara had gone out with some friends, and Erik and Joséphine sat together in the living room. A fire warmed the room, though some of the gas lamps were lit for better light. Joséphine had installed herself next to the fireplace, reading the newspaper, while Erik had chosen the fauteuil across the room, engrossed in a book he had brought over from the library, now and then taking a sip of brandy from the glass on the table situated in front of him.

When Joséphine had finished reading, she put the journal down on her knees and addressed her husband.

"It has been over a week now that the papers have not printed an article about the opera ghost."

"I know. It seems that they are losing interest," he replied, not looking up from his book.

"Well, a member of the town council killing his daughter and her husband because she had run away with a painter is definitely more intriguing than a ghost that some people aren't even sure exists," she said casually. Erik gave a loud snort at that.

"I think it also has something to do with the fact that the one who most forcefully supported the search is not in town at the moment," she added.

At this, Erik looked at her, knowing too well of whom she was speaking.

"But sooner or later, they will be back," he said in a stern manner.

"I know," she said, "so I thought that it may be better to get you out into society while they are away. People will get to know you, and the Vicomte and his wife aren't here to cause trouble."

Erik cringed as Joséphine called Christine the wife of that…boy…, but then continued looking at her, waiting for her to elaborate.

In the past few days, Joséphine had thought a lot about how she was to introduce her husband into society, and also how to explain the way they met. Through Mathilde and two other servants, she had let spread the news that she had recovered from her illness, and she had also written letters to some of her friends and acquaintances in town informing them of her better health, begging them to visit soon.

"I heard that they are not to be expected back before the start of next month, so that will give us ample time." She paused, frowning slightly. "The only problem that I have is what to answer should somebody ask how we got introduced. Since everybody assumed I was sick and staying at home, where and how could I have met you?"

Erik pondered on this for a moment. "You never had a doctor in the house, right?"

"No because I have never been ill. The doctors for upper society are well known, and the ruse would soon have been discovered, so Clara told everyone that she had consulted a specialist from abroad," Joséphine informed him.

Suddenly, a small smile crept at his mouth, replacing his normally stern and serious looks. "Did she? Well, then I might know someone who could play this role, should someone ask to meet him," he told her, leaning back in the fauteuil, waiting for her curiosity to take over.

"You…you do?" she asked intrigued, leaning forward, not noticing the paper that slipped down the floor. Erik had to smirk at that.

"Yes, his name is Nadir Khan, I met him while I was in Persia. I know for a fact that he will be in town next week, we could ask him," he explained.

"Is he a doctor for real?"

"He is accomplished in various sectors. I am sure he knows enough about the human body to pass through as a doctor."

He saw her putting everything together in her mind. Quite contrary to him, she was sometimes very easy to read. Right now, her eyes looked upward, turning left to right, spinning the story in her mind. Her hands were in her lap, her fingers bouncing slightly against the fabric of her dress.

Suddenly, her eyes darted towards him. "But, how do you come into this?" she asked, a bit at a loss. Erik found it amusing to keep her waiting, so he pretended to think about that. When he heard her left foot tapping impatiently on the floor, he answered.

"I am his…best friend, and one day appeared at your doorstep to speak with him on urgent matters. And since you barley had visitors to the house..."

"My curiosity won and I came down to see the unexpected guest. That is brilliant, Erik!" she exclaimed.

"So, we met and…" he gestured, not wanting to say out loud that they had fallen in love at first sight, because it was a lie, but he knew that in the short time since he had met her, he had developed at least some feelings for his wife.

She had been confronted with some of his darker moods and aggressive behaviour, yet she had not fled but stood up to him. She rarely mentioned his deformity, and when she did, it was to tell him that he should stop thinking so lowly about himself, and that his disfigurement didn't disturb her.

It was true, she had seen him without his mask on more than one occasion, and with exception of the night they had met and she got his first look at him, she did not seem put out by his looks.

She also was well read, and witty; and every day he found her more beautiful. They were quite compatible, if their tempers did not clash as they had a few weeks ago.

* * *

After Christine and the Chagny boy had left for their honeymoon, he had stayed for the first time at home that night since his marriage, even coming down to the library where Joséphine had chosen to spend her evening, to find a book.

When he entered the room, Joséphine looked up at him, clearly surprised, but definitely pleased. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for a book; what else would I do in a library?" he replied.

"I mean what are you doing at home?" she insisted.

"There is no reason for me to go out tonight," he said with his back to her, examining the bookshelves. "Or tomorrow for that matter," he added quietly.

For a second, she looked at him with a confused expression, then realisation dawned on her. "It's because she's gone, right?" she asked him.

He turned to face her, his flat expression not giving away how he felt.

"I know that you entered this marriage to keep seeing her, but did you really gain anything by strolling around the Chagny grounds at night, trying to catch a glimpse of her?"

She shook her head. "There must be other ways to get what you desire. And I would not want you to get caught," she added.

Erik scowled at her. "What does it matter to you?"

"I know this is a marriage of convenience, but still, I am your wife."

"In nothing more than on paper, so do not mingle in my affairs," he chided her, grabbing a random book. He left the library without giving her another glance.

* * *

"Yes, this will work," Joséphine said, a satisfied look on her face. "I already started sending letters to some friends and acquaintances here in town, asking them to come visit me," she continued. "We should receive invitations to a ball or something like that soon after the first visitors can ascertain themselves of my full recovery."

"Very well," Erik said, impressed that she had given his situation that much thought.

When he started his reading again, he saw Joséphine shiver, even though she sat next to the fireplace. He placed his book down, rose, and draped the plaid that had lain next to him on the fauteuil over her.

She looked at him with surprised eyes at this gentle gesture. "Thank you," she said, pleased at his courteousness. Intending to go back to his seat, her hand on his arm stopped him in his tracks. Curious, he looked down at her.

"You know, despite some differences, I am glad that you agreed to marry me. I don't think I could have found a better man that night," she confessed, blushing as soon as the words had left her mouth.

Erik stood there, his mouth agape, touched by what he had heard. Then he kneeled down in front of her, steadying himself on the armrest of her chair. She stared at him with wondering eyes, making him slightly uncomfortable.

"I don't know how you can stand to be around me that often," he said, silencing her with his finger held up in the air, "but I admit that I find your company very welcome indeed."

Suddenly, before he knew what was happening, he felt her soft lips on his own. It was just a small kiss, and she ended it only shortly after having initiated it, but still, it was a kiss. It was not a kiss out of pity like Christine had given him in his lair to save his rival.

Realising his eyes were closed, he opened them to see that Joséphine had blushed a deep shade of red. Her left hand had wandered to her mouth, touching her lips, as if savouring the kiss. But, that couldn't be, right?

"Why did you do that?" he asked her, his voice a bit hoarse and barley above a whisper. He could see that she did not want to give the answer, clearly discontent with his reaction, but his position in front of her prevented her from getting away.

"Why?" he asked her once more.

"Because…because I wanted to," she blurted out. Tears sprang to her eyes. "I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't have…I just wanted…" She stopped as he brought his lips down on hers.

Timidly, their mouths explored each other, like a young couple on a dance floor sharing a dance for the first time, inexperienced, but willing to try.

Erik was overcome by thousands of different emotions. He had never felt anything that wonderful, not even Christine's kiss had been like that. Christine… What would she think of him if she knew that he betrayed her with another woman? He couldn't do this to her.

Erik jerked away as if burned, trying to ignore the hurt look on Joséphine's face at his sudden change. "I can't…" he choked out, exiting the room hastily, and leaving a deeply troubled wife behind.


	18. Girl Talk

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Thanks to my beta Luthien Saralonde for helping me! And a big thanks to all the readers, and especially the reviewers! I am amazed how many reviews and hits I got so far! Thank you all!_

**Girl Talk**

The morning after, Erik did not come down to breakfast, and secretly Joséphine was glad that she did not have to face him. For a long time, she had tossed and turned in her bed, not being able to fall asleep, thinking about the events that had transpired earlier that evening.

She had kissed him. It was true what she had told him, she had wanted it, but in the end, she had no idea what made her do it. He had been so close, and suddenly she couldn't resist the temptation. She had simply wanted to know what his lips felt like. They were colder than hers, just like his whole body was always a little bit colder than everybody else's. But the difference between his cool lips and her warm ones was like an electric jolt; it sent shivers through her body although it lasted only a mere second.

When he had jerked back and left so abruptly, stammering a lame excuse, she had felt deeply disappointed. And she was pretty sure she knew the reason for his behaviour. He probably thought kissing somebody else would blemish his love for Christine. She was only his wife out of convenience, and the singer was the one Erik really wanted.

Until now, it hadn't disturbed her, but recently, it seemed that her feelings towards Erik had started to change. It was ridiculous to be jealous of a girl she had never even met, but yes, she wished that this wouldn't stand between her and Erik. Finally she fell into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of a young girl in dancer's clothes taunting her.

For two days, Erik had shied from her presence. He passed the whole day out of the house, supposedly meeting with clients and colleagues. While he was at home with her, he opted for taking his meals in his room, avoiding every opportunity to see her. It gave her ample time to think about what she would say when they finally spoke again.

Friday morning, Joséphine received a letter from a befriended couple, asking if she was well enough to call on her the next day. She knew that she had to let Erik know, and ask permission to accept the offer.

Pacing in her room, she waited for him to return home, thinking about how best to approach him. Lost in her thoughts, she did not hear Mathilde come in, bringing her some tea.

"Joséphine? Are you alright?"

Joséphine's head jerked up. "What?"

"I called your name, but you did not seem to hear me. Is everything alright?" Mathilde asked her, a concerned look on her face.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mathilde, I was just…" With a sigh, she walked over to her bed and fell down on it. She rubbed her face with her left hand, trying to clear her thoughts.

"I received a letter from the Douvilles today, they want to come by tomorrow afternoon and await my answer this evening," she told her friend.

"You have not yet replied? This is going to be your first visit in months, why would you decline?" Mathilde asked perplexed.

Joséphine tilted her head towards the connecting door.

"I need to tell him, and I don't want to, not after…"

"I already figured that something happened between you two. Do you want to tell me?" Mathilde asked gently, sitting down on the bed next to Joséphine.

Sitting up, Joséphine drew a deep breath. "We kissed," she stated simply, eliciting a gasp from Mathilde. "More like, I kissed him, and then he ran away."

Mathilde simply looked at her, curious.

"Well, I told you that this was only a marriage of convenience. I needed a husband, and he thought he would never find a wife the way he looks," Joséphine explained. Mathilde nodded.

"Yesterday evening, we sat in the salon, reading, and conversing lightly. Then, I told him that I was glad it had been him I met before the ultimatum was up. That I could not have found a better man at the short time I had. He came closer and before I knew it I pressed my lips on his. I guess I was about as much surprised as he was. We…kissed again, and suddenly he stepped back and left."

"But why? Why didn't he want a kiss from a beautiful woman like you?" Mathilde inquired. Joséphine blushed at the compliment. "He should be glad you wanted to kiss him, scarred as you say he is," she said further.

"I don't mind his looks, Mathilde, I only know him like this. So please refrain from bringing that subject up again," Joséphine said, exasperated.

"I know, Milady," she replied, using the formal address to tell her friend that the reprimand was just. "I just don't think _I_ would be able to oversee something as important as looks. I always dreamt of a handsome prince to sweep me away." Both giggled at the thought.

"Looks are one thing," Joséphine said, becoming serious again. "But there are many other desirable qualities in a man. Erik is incredibly smart, and talented. He explained some of the blueprints to me and the details are amazing. He designed the Theatre Marigny! He plays the piano with a passion, just like my mother did. He can be the perfect gentlemen; and turn from stern and distant to passionate and agitated."

"You're falling for him, Joséphine," Mathilde stated, seeing the gleam that had come to her friend's eyes as she talked about Erik.

"My God, I know!" she exclaimed, falling back on the bed and burying her head in the pillows.

"But what's so bad about falling in love with one's husband?"

Joséphine chose her next words carefully to not give Erik away. She did not dare tell Mathilde that her husband was in love with another woman, too afraid that she would connect this to what had transpired at the opera house.

"The illness he had was sever, and caused him to suffer for a long time. The scars that remain are bad; they will always be a part of him and remind him of what he had to endure. He shut himself away from the world, only caring about his work and not thinking about anything else." She lifted her head to look at her friend. "I don't think he finds himself worthy of love, but in fact, it's what he desires the most."

"That sounds terribly complicated," Mathilde concluded. "You need to be patient with him. Give him time to get accustomed to your feelings." She took her friend's hand. "And let's hope that he will return them in time."

"Sooner rather than later," Joséphine said pouting. Mathilde smiled.

"Don't mention what transpired between you when you talk to him about the Douville's upcoming visit. Let him sort out his feelings without pressure," Mathilde advised her.

"You really think that's best?" Joséphine asked her confidante.

"I don't have a lot experience with romance, but everything I've seen of your husband so far tells me that he's very proud, but often lacks self-confidence because of his…appearance," Mathilde stated perceptively. Joséphine nodded, agreeing with her.

"Do you think he will have a problem meeting your friends?"

"My position in society surely was one of the reasons he agreed so fast to this marriage," Joséphine explained. "Erik can benefit greatly from my connections, even though they were a bit slack in the last year." Mathilde smiled at the understatement. "It would be unwise for him to ignore this first visit from my friends."

"Tell him about the letter and look for his reaction. If he is hesitant, tell him what you just told me," Mathilde suggested.

Joséphine thought about that for a second, then agreed with her friend. "You are right, I will do that."

"Now tell me," Mathilde said curiously, changing the subject, "how was the kiss?"

Joséphine blushed almost instantly at this inquiry. "I…it was…nice, I suppose," she stammered.

"Only nice?"

"The first kiss was, the one I initiated. It lasted only a second. The other kiss, well…his lips are a bit cooler than mine, and the sensation was nothing like I ever felt before. It was…" unconsciously, her left hand wandered to her lips, which did not go unnoticed by her friend, who could not resist a grin.

"Magic?" Mathilde offered.

Joséphine looked at her, smiling. "Amazing. I never thought a kiss would be that good." Suddenly, her head jerked towards the connecting door. Erik had come home.

Mathilde stood up from the bed and offered a hand to her friend. "Give him a few minutes, then go to him."

"But what if I blush? Or worse, start talking about what happened? What if he doesn't want to talk to me at all?" Joséphine babbled, insecure.

"You are a strong woman, Joséphine, you can do this. It will all work out, you will see," she said reassuringly.

"Thank you, Mathilde. Sometimes I really don't know what I would do without you." Joséphine drew her friend into a hug.

"You're welcome, Milady," she answered, smiling. Then she gave a small curtsey and left, leaving Joséphine alone.

"It would all be much less complicated if I didn't like you that much," Joséphine said towards the connecting door. "Or if you weren't in love with someone else."

Checking her appearance in the mirror of the vanity, she crossed the room and knocked on Erik's door.


	19. Visitors

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._  
_A big thanks to my beta: you're the best!_

**Visitors**

Erik had spent the whole day at the construction site of the Hotel de Carnavalet, a 16th century building which Baron Haussmann had foreseen to host the new town museum, the Musée de Paris. It was a prestigious project, led by the young architect Victor Parmentier, who had gladly used Erik's blueprints as his own, paying him a considerable amount of money. Erik came regularly to the site, sneaking in unseen, checking on the progress. He didn't mind that his designs were passed of as someone else's, but he was adamant that no additional changes were made without his consent.

He came home, tired and exhausted, wanting nothing else than relax quietly in his rooms. When he heard the knock on the connecting door, he knew that he would not be able to do so. He still wasn't ready to talk to Joséphine, disturbed by what had happened two days ago in the living room, but it seemed that he couldn't avoid her any longer.

* * *

That evening, he had nearly run back to his rooms, locking and barricading both doors. In a fit of anger at letting himself be seduced by his wife, he grabbed the first object at hand and threw it at the wall. Ripping the mask from his face, he sat down on his bed, ashamed of the betrayal he had committed.

'It wasn't my fault, it was Joséphine's,' he told himself. She was the one that had kissed him.

'But after the first kiss, you kissed her back,' a small voice in his head spoke.

'I got carried away!' he justified himself.

'You should have backed away in the first place,' the voice continued. 'How can you say you love Christine with all your heart and then act like this?'

'I don't know,' Erik admitted. And he said the truth; he didn't know how it had happened. He felt comfortable enough around Joséphine that he had started to let his guard down, telling her more of himself than anybody else in the last years, with exception of the Daroga.

Besides feeling ashamed for blemishing his love for Christine, he couldn't understand why Joséphine had wanted to kiss him at all. It had felt so different to the kiss Christine had given him. He could not see an ulterior motive behind it.

He had been shocked when Christine had kissed him in his lair. All he had ever wanted was her love, but the kiss, deep though as it was, had felt like a sacrifice. What had she said to him before the Vicomte appeared?

"This haunted face holds no horror for me now… It's in your soul that the true distortion lies."

Joséphine had said something similar. She told him that his behaviour made it impossible for Christine or anyone else to fall in love with him. Yet, she had kissed him. Did that mean he had already changed, or did she like him in spite of everything?

Two days had passed, and he had not found an answer to this question. He hoped that Joséphine wouldn't insist on talking about what had happened. If she tried, he would cut her short, unwilling to discuss the matter further.

* * *

"Come in," he said calmly, waiting for her to enter.

The door opened, and Joséphine stepped into the room. "Hello, Erik," she said, a smile on her lips, but her composure betrayed her insecurity. She looked at him for a while, trying to decipher his mood, but his face gave nothing away, so she continued.

"I received a letter from some friends. They want to come by for tea tomorrow afternoon, and I wanted to know if it would be convenient for you."

'Good,' Erik thought, 'she does not seem to want to talk about it either.' Erik motioned for her to sit down, which she happily did, choosing the chair at the desk. Erik remained standing, but leant his tall form at one of the bedposts.

"Whom are we talking about?" he asked her after she was seated.

"Christian and Florence de Douville," Joséphine replied.

"The politician?" Erik asked, interested.

"Yes, he is a friend of my father. He and his wife came by now and then since my father left for Africa, verifying that I was fine. They were one of the first Clara informed of my 'illness', stopping their visits, and she always intercepted the letters I sent them."

"You have not yet accepted their request?"

"No, I wanted to make sure that you would be here." He looked at her, and she willed herself to meet his gaze without flinching.

"This is the opportunity you wanted. Florence has a tendency to not keep things to herself; she loves spreading news in society. It would be in your own interest to make a good impression on her, because her opinion matters greatly among other people," Joséphine explained, hoping to convince him with her arguments.

"Do I have do be present all the time? I have work to do, and I loath to fall behind my schedule," Erik said coldly.

Inwardly, he knew she was right. If this couple accepted him as one of their own, it would be easier for him to mingle in society. But he was unwilling to let her know how much this would mean to him.

Joséphine tried not to let him see how much his icy behaviour disturbed her. He was blaming her for what had happened, that much was clear. But if he could proceed as if nothing had happened, then so could she. She rose and strode towards her door.

"I did not expect you to, but you should at least show up. I will tell them to arrive at four o' clock." She gave him a challenging look. "And if you're able to, behave a bit warmer towards me in front of them. How are they going to believe us our story otherwise?"

That said, she left for her rooms, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Back in her room, Joséphine sat down at her desk, ready to write the reply letter to the Douvilles, but her hands were shaking and she was unable to hold the quill. It had cost her a lot to follow Mathilde's advice and not talk to Erik about the kiss. Finally, it had seemed the right choice, because his detached and cold behaviour could have instantly turned to seething anger, about that she was sure. She hoped he would see the importance of this meeting and therefore behave accordingly. Having calmed down enough, she retook the quill and started the letter.

* * *

The next day, everything was prepared for the visit of the Douvilles. Clara, conveniently, was out again, and not expected back before dinner. Mathilde had taken great care in choosing a dress for her, insisting on a frail blue one that made her look paler than usual, reinforcing the impression that Joséphine had just recovered from her malady.

She came down short before four o' clock, and waited for the arrival of her guests in the living room. The servants had orders to lead them to her immediately. She prayed to not let anything slip that would give the false impression, or worse, give Erik away as what he was. She hoped that they would not openly comment on his mask, making him more uncomfortable than he certainly was going to be.

The doorbell rang and Joséphine tensed instantly. She rose from the fauteuil to greet them. Moments later, the Douvilles appeared at the door.

Christian de Douville was a man of around fifty, with greying hair and a likewise moustache. His protruding belly proved him to be a man who loved to eat and favoured the good things in life. His wife, Florence, was an elegant lady in her late thirties, with her blond hair pinned up, and dressed in the latest fashion. Her grey blue eyes warmed when she set eyes on Joséphine.

"My dear, I am happy to see you well again after all this time," Florence exclaimed, reaching out for Joséphine to give her a motherly embrace. "With the letters your mother sent us, we feared for the worst." Joséphine cringed inwardly as Clara was called her mother, but she let it pass without comment.

"Yes, I am glad that the whole ordeal is over," Joséphine replied. "Please have a seat, tea will be served shortly."

The three took their places, the couple on the fauteuil and Joséphine on one of the armchairs across of them. One of the servants entered and brought a tablet with tea and amuse-bouches. She curtsied, placed it on the coffee table and left quietly.

"You seem considerably well after all this time, though still a bit pale, and thin, if you don't mind me saying," Christian remarked. Joséphine thanked Mathilde silently for the excellent choice of her wardrobe.

"The doctor Clara consulted from abroad worked real wonders," she informed the couple, helping herself to a cup of tea. "And…" she paused, waiting for them to serve themselves, wanting to have their full attention when she broke the news, "I had some sort of a miracle cure as well," she added, smiling mysteriously.

"You did?" Christian asked, intrigued. His wife leaned forward, equally interested. "What was it?"

Joséphine put down her teacup. "I got married," she stated simply. Florence, who was about to take a sip of tea, nearly choked on the hot liquid, Christian gave her a concerned look, then addressed Joséphine.

"I admit I didn't expect that. Neither did my wife, apparently." He smiled at Florence, who had regained her composure. "How did you…" he started, but his wife interrupted him.

"Stop the suspense and tell me all about it!" She said impatiently. Her eyes had widened at the surprising news and she could barely contain her joy over it.

"He's a friend of the doctor who treated me. He should be here shortly to keep us company," Joséphine said, glancing towards the door, hoping Erik would show up as promised and not embarrass her.

"But, that must have happened fast. Or were you still ill when you two met?" Florence inquired further.

"Quite fast, I confess. I was still recovering when he came to our house in search of his friend, my doctor. I was so eager to have some fresh company after these months of…isolation that I jumped on the opportunity and invited him for dinner." She smiled, as if thinking fondly of the memories she had.

"He's not the talkative type, but I managed to get at least some things out of him. He's an architect, and he travels a lot."

"This must have pleased you, as you always envied your father for going abroad," Christian remarked.

"Of course, I asked him a thousand questions, surely getting on his nerves a bit, but he put up with me without complaint. I actually invited him to come visit me the next day." Joséphine took a hors d'oeuvre, enjoying the fact that both were hanging on her lips, waiting to hear her fairytale.

"He didn't show up at the arranged time, and I was disappointed beyond believe, thinking I had been too forward. But, at last, he appeared. It wasn't long before we became engaged and married soon after that," she concluded.

"Oh, my dear Josephine, this is a story people will love to hear!" Florence said merrily, lifting her teacup to her lips. "A stranger, no, a prince who sweeps the sick lady of her feet and marries her, wonderful!

"You were talking about me?" Erik asked, having entered unheard and startling Joséphine and the guests alike. Florence's teacup shattered to the floor as her hands went to her mouth to stifle the sound of surprise at his sudden appearance.

Joséphine rose and walked over to stand by her husband. "My friends, this is my husband, Erik Perrault. Erik, these are Christian and Florence de Douville."

"Forgive my wife, Monsieur Perrault, she is easily startled," Christian said, getting up to welcome him. Erik walked over and shook his hand, then gave a kiss on the hand of Florence. It was only at this proximity that they noticed the mask that covered half of his face. The Douvilles exchanged a furtive glance and did not comment on it. Josephine sat back on the armchair; Erik took the one next to her.

"Joséphine told us that you are an architect?" Christian asked politely.

"Yes, though I tend to sell most of my blueprints to other colleagues who oversee the realisation of the designs," Erik explained, equally polite.

"Were you not involved in one of the projects of our dear Baron Haussmann?" he probed further, referring to the plans of the famous prefect of Paris, whose ideas of rebuilding the town would change the face of the Paris forever.

"Not on a regular basis, as some other architects. But I designed quite a few buildings here in town," Erik elaborated.

For the next hour, Erik was outdoing himself, answering nearly all the questions Florence and Christian posed him. He was charming, witty, and, for his standards, quite talkative. The only time they caught him unprepared was when Florence spoke about the beginnings of their marriage.

"Oh, this must have been quite the coup de foudre between you two," she said, sighing. "It's just so romantic. I'm so glad that Joséphine finally found someone who loves her so much." At that, Erik had paled, but the Douvilles thankfully did not notice.

Finally, the couple got up to leave, promising to invite them both to dinner the next week.

"We really need to get you out again, you missed nearly a whole season," Florence stated. "Thankfully, you are already married," she looked at Erik, and then back to Joséphine. "After a year not being out in society and at your age, you would not have had many possibilities left, my dear." Erik saw his wife's eyes light up at this veiled insult, but since she remained calm, he said nothing either.

When they arrived at the entrance hall, the front door opened, and Clara stepped into the house. Her eyes widened at the sight of the visitors, but she managed to hide her surprise well.

"Madame la Marquise, what a pity that we are about to leave when you come home. I am sorry to hear that you already had other plans when we asked for this visit," Florence said, and Erik noticed that, although she was very polite and friendly, her voice did not contain the warmth it had held only seconds ago.

Clara shot her stepdaughter a scathing look. "Yes, unfortunately I could not change them at this short notice," she answered. "But I will be happy to welcome you again in my house in the near future," she added.

"But of course," Florence replied. "Now that Joséphine is well again, we will come by more often, won't we, Christian?" She looked at her husband, who nodded dutifully.

"You must be happy to have wed your daughter to such a great man, Madame, and this when not so long ago you feared for her life, as you wrote in the letters," she continued, and Joséphine suddenly suspected that Florence had started doubting the story of her severe illness.

"Yes, I must confess that I still can't believe how things developed," Clara said sternly, walking them to the door as was her duty as the lady of the house, while Erik and Joséphine remained in the middle of the entrance hall. Due to this, they did not hear what Christian said to his wife as Clara closed the door behind them.

"They fit, don't you think? Maybe old Stanislas will have an heir to his title at last."

Clara's eyes narrowed, for her inability to conceive an heir had become a big problem in her marriage over the years. After three years of marriage, she still hadn't been pregnant, and her husband withdrew more and more from her, dividing his attentions between his research and his daughter Joséphine.

Clara was jealous and completely crestfallen when Stanislas d'Escayrac drew up the contract. She saw it as a punishment for not giving him a son and heir, and when he left for Africa, she had started to let all her frustrations out on Joséphine, hoping that by preventing her from marrying, she would at least have the fortune, as her husband had preferred to roam the jungle instead of remaining with his infertile wife.

Well, if she was unable to produce children, then Joséphine would have none either. If they had already consummated their marriage and Joséphine had conceived, she would make sure that her stepdaughter had a miscarriage. And if they had not yet slept together, she would prevent them with all her power of doing so.


	20. Talks 2

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Thanks to my beta Luthien Saralonde, who's the best!_

**Talks**** 2**

Erik and Joséphine walked the stairs up to the first floor together in silence. Joséphine stole a glance at her husband, who had once more surprised her with his behaviour. But now it seemed he had returned to his reclusive and brooding self. Her thoughts were disrupted by Erik's voice.

"I'd say this went rather well," he stated when they had arrived the landing.

"Yes, very well indeed. If you act the same at their dinner next week, we will soon drown in invitations," she said, pausing for a second. "Who knew you could be that charming," she added in a murmur.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked without looking at her.

"Well, you must know that there's a difference between your usual behaviour and how you acted just back in the salon with the Douvilles," she elaborated.

Erik, still unsure what to think about his wife since the kiss, reacted defensively. "I don't need to persuade you, so there's no need to be nice and charming."

The hurt look on her face made him regret his words almost as soon as they had left his mouth. Joséphine started walking faster, getting away from him as soon as possible. Erik tried to catch up with her.

"Joséphine…" Her door slamming in his face prevented him from saying anything further.

* * *

In the evening, Erik came down to dinner, knowing that hiding away too much would raise Clara's suspicions. Besides, he wanted to talk to Joséphine and apologise for what he had said that afternoon.

Instead of throwing them angry looks as she usually did during dinner, Clara opened the conversation as soon as they had sat down together.

"I must say I am disappointed that you did not inform me of the Douvilles visiting today," Clara began with a sly smile on her lips, though it never reached her eyes.

"They called on short notice, I simply forgot to tell you," Joséphine replied. "Either way, you were already otherwise engaged that afternoon."

"Yes, I was. Still, I would have liked to talk to them a bit more," she continued, still smiling.

Erik and Joséphine exchanged a look, both knowing that Clara being that nice was definitely wrong.

"With the changed circumstances," she cast an icy look at Erik at that, "I am pretty sure that there will soon be another opportunity."

Focusing once more on her stepdaughter, Clara suddenly frowned. "Tell me, my dear, you did not look too well these past days, is everything all right?"

Joséphine had tried to hide her emotional turmoil from Clara, but apparently, she had not been very good at it. Still, she was in no mood to enlighten her. "I am fine; there is no reason to worry."

"Well, I only thought, you were so pale, and you did hardly eat anything. Maybe you contracted something. It would be a pity to fall ill now," Clara continued.

Joséphine gave her a strange look. "I assure you, Clara, I am perfectly fine."

Suddenly, Clara's face lit up. "Oh my, maybe you're pregnant!"

Erik nearly choked on his soup, but Joséphine was able to hide her shock at Clara's suggestion. "No, I am not pregnant," she told her. Clara really had a wonderful timing, she thought.

"What a pity. I'd love to have a baby in this house," Clara said, looking rather convincingly disappointed at that. Then, her look changed, and she continued with a lower voice than before. "But, you and…Erik, you did…" she made a gesture, not wanting to say things like that out loud.

Joséphine paled, but answered almost immediately. "How can you even ask that? We are married!"

"Yes, of course…how inappropriate of me to presume something like that, right?" She looked ashamed, but the predatory glance in her eyes gave her away.

"Especially if you needed to have consummated that marriage for it to be fully legal. Otherwise this farce of showing up with an ugly man of lower class for a husband will soon be over."

A smug smile had crept on her face, distorting her classic features. She paused for a second, savouring the moment of having her stepdaughter trapped. She tried to look regretful, but failed. "I am sorry for bringing this subject up at dinner."

Joséphine got up, her chair nearly falling over at her speed.

"No, you are not!"

She left the table in a rush, no longer caring how Clara would interpret her reaction, but definitely not wanting her to see her tears. Clara looked after her with a triumphant smile, ignoring Erik, who had stood up as well, until he was towering over her.

"You better not try anything like that again," he threatened her.

"You won't intimidate me," Clara replied, though she shrank back a bit as Erik leaned down to her.

I surely will," he said, dropping his voice to a growling whisper. "Hurt her, and you will regret it." When he saw her trembling, he turned abruptly and left the room to go after Joséphine.

* * *

Her bedroom door was locked, so he tried the connecting door, but she had locked it as well. He grabbed the handle. "Joséphine…"

"Go away." Her voice sounded strangled. So she was crying, but why had Clara upset her so this time? Ever since he had moved in this house, he saw Clara trying to make her miserable. She had succeeded before, but lately everything Clara said seemed to bounce off of her without the desired effect. What had changed?

He realised that he was to blame as well. He had hurt her badly that afternoon, and now Clara had threatened her to question their marriage. He needed to make things right, to do something for her, to comfort her.

Grabbing a tool from his desk, he knelt down and picked the lock, which opened easily at his manipulations. He entered and closed the door silently behind him. The sight of her laying on her bed, sobbing into the pillows stirred something in him he had not felt before. Ignoring the strange feeling, he walked over to her and sat on the edge of the bed. His hand moved forward to reach for her, but he caught himself in the last moment, letting it fall down beside him.

"Joséphine…"

"I said go away! I don't want to talk to you!"

"I…wanted to make sure if you were all right," Erik said hesitantly.

"Obviously I am not." He had to smile; even upset, she still had the nerve to talk back to him. "Why do you even care?" she cried.

"You are my wife," he answered.

An angry laugh escaped her lips. "Exactly. That's why you don't need to be nice to me, for I know who you are."

He grabbed her shoulder lightly, begging her to turn and face him. "Joséphine, I am sorry for what I said earlier. It was unjustified."

"Does that make it less true?" she replied, sniffing.

Applying more pressure, but still very gently, he turned her around and offered her a handkerchief. She took it without looking at him, hiding her face behind it.

"I really did not want to hurt you." He paused, unsure how to proceed, but he knew they had to talk about what happened sooner or later. "I…I was afraid," he admitted.

She finally looked at him. "What?"

"When you…when we kissed, I felt like I was betraying Christine…" he admitted.

"You know that she's married to another man, and they are probably doing much more than…sorry, not the best moment for bringing that up, right?" she said in a rush, seeing how his hand had clenched into a fist at her thoughtless statement.

"Definitely not," he said through gritted teeth.

"I just wanted to say that…" Fresh tears streamed down her face. "That you weren't betraying her. _I_ initiated the kiss." It took a lot of her to make him feel less guilty about what had happened, when she actually wanted nothing more than for it to happen again.

Erik watched her, at a loss of what to say. She raised her eyes to his. "What were you afraid of, Erik?"

He opened his mouth to answer her, and then closed it again. What was he afraid of really? "When you kissed me, I was afraid of my response to you. I reacted instinctively, without thinking."

Joséphine shook her head. "And that was such a bad thing that you had to run out on me?" He did not answer that. "Don't you like me at least a little bit?"

Erik flinched at her question. "No. I mean, yes, I do like you," he admitted. "This is all rather new for me," he added.

She laughed. "And what do you think it's for me? That was my first kiss, you i-…" she clamed her hand over her mouth, not wanting to aggravate the situation further by insulting him.

"Your first kiss?" he asked her incredulously.

"What did you think? I spent the last year in this golden cage, and before that, I was never really interested in men," she explained sheepishly.

Erik was at a loss. It had been her first kiss, and she had chosen him for it. "Thank you." Joséphine looked at him, bewildered, then started laughing.

"This really is unknown territory for you, right?" If she didn't think him incapable of doing it, she would have said that he was blushing. "You really are an exceptional man," she added.

Erik, not wanting to talk any further about this, changed the subject. "Why did what Clara said upset you so?" he asked her.

"I don't know. I guess I'm afraid that she's going to find out," she finally confessed.

"Find out what?" he pressed on.

"That we didn't consummate the marriage, that it's all a fake, that you're the Opera Ghost. That you will leave before…that she will make you leave before you had the chance to attain your goal," she explained in a rush.

"My goal?"

"To convince Christine that she made the wrong choice."

"Of course," he replied. "Do not worry too much about your stepmother. I know how to deal with threats."

She blanched. "Don't hurt her."

"If you insist."

"Erik…" she said concerned.

"I am joking. I won't endanger you by harming her," he told her.

"Oh I hope you do," Joséphine replied.

Erik stood up. "Will you be all right?" he inquired.

She sniffed, but nodded. "I guess so." Erik was nearly at the door when she called out to him. "Oh, Erik?"

He turned around to look at her. "Yes?"

"Stop joking, you are really bad at it."


	21. Dinner at the Douvilles Part 1

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Thanks to my beta, Luthien Saralonde!_

**DINNER AT THE DOUVILLES PART 1**

As expected, an invitation at the Douville's for dinner next Friday arrived two days later. Clara nearly threw a fit when she found out that the invitation was for the Perraults only and had not been extended to her. Since she could not show up there uninvited and was too proud to ask Joséphine to talk to Florence de Douville on her behalf, she pretended to have come down with a heavy migraine that enabled her to keep her social obligations for the next week. She preferred to stay in her darkened rooms, sulking and feigning to be sick (and plotting against her stepdaughter).

Together with the invitation, Florence de Douville had sent Joséphine a list of the other guests at the dinner, including the latest news about them, explaining in a note that since she had been away for so long she should be up to date on the latest gossip, lest she not go unprepared into the lion's den. Joséphine knew that this was Florence's way to excuse herself for having told everyone the latest news about her and her newly found husband. At least she knew now who and what to expect at the dinner.

The guest list included fourteen other people besides Joséphine and Erik. There were Gustave and Marlène de Villois, a couple in their fifties, and Jules and Genevieve Marinvilàs. Both Gustave and Jules were colleagues of Christian de Douville in the National Assembly. There was the widowed Comtesse Dauphine de Faubournet de Montferrand, coming from an old family of nobles, along with her daughter Marguerite and her son-in-law Etienne de Montrichard. Jules Jaluzot, the founder of the Grand Magasin Printemps, his wife Augustine, the writer Édouard Pailleron, the painter Zacharie Astruc, Florence's brother Gilles Becault and the Douville's neighbours, Alphonse and Bernadette Guillemin made up the rest of the invites. Joséphine knew some of them, and had heard of the rest, and was looking forward to be around people again.

The few days until Friday passed by in a blur. Joséphine spent a lot of time at her seamstress, wanting to impress everyone, especially Erik, with an exquisite dress in the latest fashion. She had hundreds of different colours and patterns to choose from, but in the end, and with the help of Mathilde, she found what she wanted. As a servant, Mathilde also knew some of the gossip that made its round between the servants, and she gladly shared her knowledge with her mistress.

Erik made himself scarce during the day, but always showed up for dinner. Something had changed between them since Joséphine's confrontation with Clara last week. After having admitted that he indeed liked her, maybe even felt attracted to her, Erik seemed to have grown more comfortable around his wife. He became friendlier and more open, which made Joséphine happy and gave her reason to hope that their relationship would work out good in the end.

True, there was still the problem of her husband being in love with Christine de Chagny, but it was her he had spent the last weeks with, getting to know her. Joséphine did not dare think about the possibility that Erik could convince Christine of his worthiness and therefore lose him for real to this woman, so she did her best not to give it too much thought and tried instead to make the best of their time together.

She knew it would be hard for her to let him go if he so wanted, but she also knew that she had to, just as he had let go Christine that night in the opera. It was his choice to make, but she prayed that when the time came, he would choose in her favour.

The evening of the dinner finally arrived. The carriage was outside, and Erik was waiting in the vestibule for Joséphine to come down. He had to admit that he was a bit nervous. Talking to clients and meeting other people for work was one thing, being among a bunch of people who only gathered to exchange small talk and gossip on others was something he was completely unused to. He had always despised the ballet rats for their love for gossip, and now he felt like he was going into the lion's den.

A creak on the stairs finished his pondering and he looked up to see Joséphine coming down. She wore a beautiful silk evening gown in a deep burgundy red. The cut was simple, the bustle small, and at a closer look one could see golden threads woven though the fabric, forming a delicate floral pattern. The corset was bound tighter than any he had seen her in, accentuating her décolleté. Her hair was tied up in an elegant bun and adorned with golden pins that contrasted perfectly with her auburn hair. Around her neck she wore a small golden necklace with a ruby in its centre. He had to admit that she looked absolutely stunning.

Joséphine looked at him shyly, waiting for him to comment on her attire, but Erik seemed to be at a loss for words. She took the last steps until she came to a halt right in front of him. She was pleased that her seamstress had talked her into choosing the dress in such a scandalous colour.

"Just promise me you'll be more talkative during the dinner, alright?" she smiled up at him, enjoying the effect she had on him.

Erik finally tore his gaze away from her body and looked her in the eyes. "If I'm seated across from you, I can't guarantee that. You are…magnifique." He took her hand and kissed it, making her blush, before leading her out the door to the carriage. When they were seated and the vehicle had taken off, it was Joséphine's turn to look him up and down.

"You are not so bad either. I'm sure you're going to make quite the impression," she stated. Erik had dressed once more in the obligatory black coat and trousers, with a waistcoat in a deep maroon and tone in tone embroidery on it. The mask melted perfectly with his features, even though the hair of his wig had been combed back neatly.

He may not have been a handsome man, but his appearance was definitely elegant. At her compliment, Erik flinched slightly. Joséphine grew curious. "Are you nervous?"

Erik pondered a second on that. He knew she would not think worse of him for being insecure, but he felt nonetheless uncomfortable admitting it. "A little," he finally said. A gentle laugh escaped her lips.

"I am too," she answered. As he raised his visible eyebrow, she explained. "This is my first evening out in society in a year. I know how it works, Florence and the Comtesse de Faubournet de Montferrand are like predators, looking for gossip everywhere. Me not being married at my age was nothing but scandalous in the eyes of the Comtesse, and now I show up after being absent for this long with a husband nobody knows. People will talk, we cannot change it, and so we just make the best of it."

She reached out to grab his hand. "It will be all right. You have the ability to influence people. Just don't threaten them, charm them," she concluded with a grin.

Erik shook his head at her words, even in reassuring him, she succeeded in teasing him. And she had come to be the only person he let get away with it.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, and ten minutes later, the carriage stopped in front of the Douville's house. Erik assisted Joséphine in getting out of the coach, looking up at the home of his wife's friends. It was an elegant two-storied town manor closer to the centre of Paris, in a rich quarter, but not as wealthy as the one he now lived in. Similar buildings lined the street on both sides, and a couple that had come out from the building next to them approached them. Joséphine turned towards them, a smile on her face.

"Bernadette, Alphonse! It is good to see you again," she greeted them.

"As it is to see you," Bernadette answered. She was a small woman with dark ringlets adorning her head, a bit older than Joséphine, dressed in a cerulean gown. Her husband was towering nearly two heads over her, with equally dark hair and an impeccably trimmed beard.

"So you are the famous Erik Perrault Florence made us so curious to meet," she addressed Erik, offering her hand to him. Erik gave a small bow.

"I hope I will be able to live up to your expectations, Madame," he answered, then greeted Alphonse Guillemin as well. Together, they took the stairs to the entrance, where Florence and her husband greeted them. Florence wore a turquoise evening gown with lighter accents that went very well with her blond hair and bright eyes. She greeted the couples warmly and guided them to the salon, where the other guests were enjoying their aperitifs. Servants were walking around, offering champagne.

"If you will excuse me, we are still waiting for the rest of our guests to arrive. But we will talk later." Smiling warmly, she left to go back to the vestibule. Bernadette gave a sweep over the present guests and immediately knew who was still missing.

"She wouldn't be the Comtesse if she weren't the last to arrive," Bernadette stated with a knowing smile. "She loves to make an entrance." Joséphine nodded. Florence's love for gossip was nothing compared to the Comtesse.

Being old nobility, she felt herself superior of others. But during her revolution, her family had lost all her fortune, and had it not been for some advantageous marriages, the family would have succumbed to insignificance. Her daughter Marguerite had married a lower aristocrat from Brest who had made a fortune with a shipping company. They had come to live with her in Paris after the Comte had passed away three years prior. Since then her favourite pastime had become attending all the important social events, collecting information about the guests and spreading them at the next opportunity.

The couples made their way around the room to greet the other guests. Erik took an immediate liking in Zacharie Astruc, who was not only a painter, but also a sculptor and an art critic for a known journal. Joséphine was greeted warmly by Florence's brother, Gilles Becault, a once suitor who she had turned down, because she felt nothing more then friendship for him.

The overall conversations stayed superficial and friendly, but ended abruptly as the Comtesse announced her arrival by clearing her throat. She stepped into the room as if she was the hostess and Erik blanched, recognising her immediately. She was a frequent visitor of the opera, owning a box across from his in the audience. She had to have been there at the night of Don Juan, and he knew that the first test of his new identity had come.

He turned to inform Joséphine of his discovery, but Alphonse already guided her to the dining room. He could do nothing else than offer his arm to Bernadette, who had been assigned his lady for the evening, and walk with her to supper.

_A/N: __I'll put pictures of how I imagine Joséphine's dress on my site._


	22. Dinner at the Douvilles Part 2

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Luthien, my beta, you rock!_

**Dinner at the Douvilles Part Two**

_Seating Order:_  
_ Marguerite / Edouard / Jules J. / Genevieve / Alphonse / Joséphine / Gilles / Gustave_  
_Christian - Florence_  
_ Comtesse / Etienne / Augustine / Jules M. / Bernadette / Erik / Zacharie / Marlene_

Erik held the chair out for Bernadette to sit down and was glad to see that Monsieur Astruc was seated to his right and Joséphine with Alphonse across from him. He glanced towards the head of the table, where the Comtesse took her seat on the right side of the host. Joséphine may be the daughter of a Marquis and thus of higher descent, but she held no title, so the chair of honour was reserved for the Comtesse, who was also the eldest at the dinner.

Soup was served and Erik resumed his conversation with Monsieur Astruc on the various trends in arts, trying at the same time to catch some of the conversation at the top of the table, fearing his impending exposure. Joséphine was oblivious to his concerns and chatted amiably with Alphonse and Gilles, who sat to her left.

As the main course was served, the Comtesse spoke up, addressing Joséphine across the table. "I am content to see you finally married, Madame, even though your husband is not nobility."

Erik saw Joséphine stiffen, but remained calm. "But it seems, at your age and with what happened to you in the last year, you did not have that much of a choice," she went on in a disapproving tone.

"Why do you wear a mask Monsieur?" her daughter Marguerite de Montrichard inquired, who had inherited her blunt curiosity from her mother. "One could mistake you for the ghost that haunted the opera a few months back."

Now it was up to Erik to stiffen, but before he could answer, Florence jumped in the conversation. "That's preposterous. Monsieur Perrault is a well-known architect, and associating him with a criminal is simply ridiculous."

"Yes, my dear, Madame de Douville is right," the Comtesse chided her daughter. "I was at the opera at when that monster kidnapped Chagny's wife, and what I saw on stage was more like an animal than a man."

Erik relaxed, grateful that the woman had failed to make the connection, but boiling inwardly with rage at being referred to as a monster. He saw that Joséphine had gripped her glass very tightly and had trouble controlling her breathing.

"But still, do enlighten us Monsieur why it is you are wearing that mask," she addressed Erik again.

Erik exchanged a glance with his wife to reassure her that the situation was under control. "I fell ill while I was working in Persia years ago. My skin got infected and never healed properly. The mask serves as a protection for the destroyed part of my face."

He looked around the table, taking in the pitying looks on most of their faces. His eyes met Joséphine's, who gave him a reassuring smile. "I also prefer not to frighten people with the distortion the illness caused to me," he added nonchalantly.

An embarrassed silence followed his explanation. Florence, ever being a good hostess, immediately guided the conversation to another subject, receiving a grateful nod from both Erik and Joséphine.

Still, it did not last long before someone at the table approached another delicate subject. They had just gotten served their dessert, when Gustave de Villois spoke up. "When is the Chagny boy going to return with that wife of his from their voyage?" he inquired.

"Not before the end of the month," Genevieve Marinvilas informed them. Her family had always been close friends with the Chagnys, so of course she was informed about the latest news on the newly wed couple.

"I find it scandalous that the Vicomte went off to marry a girl, a dancer, so low under his class," the Comtesse said in a disapproving tone, letting everyone know what she thought about the union. "I am glad his parents aren't alive any more and have to suffer from his untactful behaviour."

Joséphine thought she could hear Erik gritting his teeth, but apparently she was the only one to be interested in his reaction. She only feared that all the talk about Christine would lead him to say something that would give him away. She tried to make eye contact, but he stared down at his plate, his eyes having taken on a pained and slightly haunted look.

"A dancer?" Augustine Jaluzot asked, interested. "I thought she was the new Prima Donna at the opera?"

"Yes, but she was a mere dancer, a ballet girl before her talent was discovered. It is said that they are very much in love," Bernadette added to the conversation.

"That may be the case, but still, a girl like her, you take on as a mistress and not as a wife," Jules Marinvilàs commented.

Erik's grip on the spoon tightened, nearly bending it between his fingers, his whole posture becoming tense. Joséphine slipped down slightly on her chair and kicked him with her foot to get his attention. When he raised his eyes to hers, she saw the murderous look in them. Unnoticeably, she shook her head, begging him to restrain himself.

"I do not consider it such a bad thing," Gustave de Villois said between bites of his cake. "I even find it heart warming that Raoul de Chagny did not care about etiquette and acted out of love." Florence, Bernadette and some others nodded to that, but the Comtesse was not so easily swayed.

"It's better to stick to your own circles, I believe. Too great a mingling of the classes is a danger for our society."

"But, my dear Comtesse," Édouard Pailleron spoke up, "society changes constantly these days. Old families run out of fortune and are forced to seek out advantageous unions, or they might lose their place in society."

Marguerite de Montrichard turned red, knowing very well that this could be said of her marriage.

"Commoners get rich through industrialisation and commerce, gaining importance in politics and upper class. The world changes and we have to deal with it."

"But I do not have to approve of it," the Comtesse replied icily.

Christian, sensing that the aggregation was treading a delicate subject, ended the conversation by asking the gentlemen to join him for a brandy and a cigar in his office. Florence guided the ladies to the salon, once more stirring the conversation to lighter matters.

* * *

The ladies talked about the latest fashion, who had recently become engaged, married or gotten pregnant. Joséphine only listened half-heartedly, her thoughts on Erik and how he fared among the men. That's why she didn't react immediately when Bernadette addressed her. Only when Florence gave her a slight nudge, she tuned back in.

"I just said that being married seems to become you," Bernadette repeated. "You look positively radiant."

Joséphine smiled, blushing. "Thank you."

"Have you seen behind your husband's mask, Madame?" Marguerite de Montrichard asked innocently, eager for more gossip. Joséphine nodded, trying to hide her unease at the new interrogation.

"What does he look like? Is it very bad?" she probed further. Her mother, the Comtesse, put her teacup down, giving Joséphine's answer her full attention.

"Yes, I have seen him without the mask. And yes, the scar tissue is bad. But you must understand that I am not willing to betray my husband's trust by describing it," she answered confidently, indicating that she was unwilling to talk further about this.

"Of course, that is understandable," Augustine Jaluzot said, ignoring the pouting look on Marguerite's face. "A woman should not gossip about her husband."

"Only about those of other women," Genevieve commented to the amusement of the other ladies.

* * *

Meanwhile, the men in Christian's office were mostly talking politics and business, enjoying a brandy, while some of them had lit a cigar, puffing thick clouds of smoke into the air.

Christian had introduced Erik as a very capable architect, and Jules Jaluzot was now asking Erik what he thought of the design of his department store Printemps. Erik was just explaining that he found the combination of functionality and art design quite intriguing, when Gilles Becault, Florence's brother approached him, asking him for a word in private. The men retreated to a far corner of the office, where they would be able to talk undisturbed.

"I know it may be inappropriate to ask you that but I am curious," Gilles began, then paused, searching for words. Erik looked at him, encouraging him to ask the question. "Are you really in love with Joséphine?" Gilles said finally, not looking Erik in the eyes.

Erik's eyes widened. How and why did this man dare ask him such a thing? "I beg your pardon?" he said in an intimidating tone.

Gilles clasped his hands together nervously. "I have known Joséphine for a very long time, and we always got along so well. So, one day, I asked for her hand in marriage, and I really thought she'd say yes."

"But she turned me down, saying I only wanted to marry her because everyone expected us to marry rather than because I loved her with all my heart. She said she would only marry someone who loved her and whom she loved in return," he explained. Erik felt a strange stirring at this revelation, but was unable to place it.

"Why are you telling me this, Monsieur Becault?" Erik said flatly.

"Because I care a lot for her," Gilles told him. "She said she would only marry for love, and seeing you two at dinner tonight, I can tell that she feels a lot for you, but I am not so sure about your intentions."

At the opera, Erik would have strangled a man with his Punjab lasso for talking to him like that. Impertinent as it was, he had to admit, that the man was a good observant, for it was true, he was not in love with Joséphine.

Still, he had come to care deeply for her, and he could not risk rumours about the stability and intentions of their marriage start spreading around. He scanned the room; so far none of the other men showed any interest in the topic of their conversation, and he'd rather keep it like that. Calming himself, he prepared his answer.

"This is the first time we meet, Monsieur, is it not?" Gilles Becault nodded. "Then what makes you think you are able to read me?" he said in a calm voice.

"I was only…" Gilles began, but Erik cut him off, not wanting to be interrupted.

"Stop right there, and do not talk any further about this matter to me, nor to Joséphine. Our marriage is exactly that, ours, and I won't have anyone, not even one of her friends," he said the word with an undertone that implicated clearly he did not count Gilles as one of those, "question or interfere with it."

With that said, he made his way back to Christian and Jules Marinvilàs to join in their conversation.

An hour later, the men rejoined the ladies in the salon and soon after the evening came to an end. Erik and Joséphine said their goodbyes, and promised to give a party on their own in the very near future.

Alphonse and Bernadette waited with them outside until the carriage arrived, then walked back to their own house. Once inside the carriage, Joséphine let herself fall back against the upholstery and released a deep breath.

"Good Lord, I thought the Comtesse would never stop prying into every subject. This woman is really unbelievable. And did you see her daughter? Her corset was so tightly bound that I feared she'd faint at any moment! While you were at the office, it was always fashion here, and scandal there, and the only people above all reproach were of course she and her mother. How I'd love to…"

She stopped when she saw Erik staring pensively out of the window. "Is everything all right, Erik?" When he didn't react, she tried again, this time reaching out with her hand. "Erik?"

His head turned abruptly. "What? Yes, I am just a bit tired, that's all." He gave her a small smile. "I am just not accustomed to being in society like this."

Joséphine felt that there was something he was not telling her, but she let him be and they finished the ride home in silence.

Erik was not tired at all; on the contrary, his mind was whirling.

His 'outing' in society had gone better than he had anticipated. True, there had been questions about his mask, but he and Joséphine had apparently been able to answer them sufficiently. Having money and good connections seemed to be enough for most of them to accept him.

He had seen that Joséphine had grown to like him, maybe even love him, even if he couldn't understand why. Their marriage seemed no longer to be one of convenience, at least on her part.

What would happen to Joséphine when he went away with Christine? She would be humiliated by all those gossip mongers, and it would probably break her heart when he left her for Christine. Christine…what if she didn't change her mind, what if she decided to stay with Raoul?

Was he able to love Joséphine, and if not, could he stay with her, dooming her to a life full of unrequited love? When Florence's brother had told him that he had once proposed to her, he had had the abrupt urge to hurt the man. Could he have felt jealousy?

When they arrived at home, Erik was still deeply in thought, and before he knew it, they came to a halt at his door. Joséphine stood before him, in that beautiful red dress, her cheeks a rosy pink, surely from the wine she had consumed tonight. She was looking up at him, searching his face to find out what was bothering him. He just stood there, staring back. Finally, she broke the silence.

"Good night, Erik." She turned to continue to her door, but his hand shot out, turning her so swiftly that she nearly stumbled back into him. His mouth came down on hers and sealed her lips with a resolute kiss. Joséphine nearly squealed out in surprise, but just as her eyes fluttered closed, he let go of her. She looked at him, at a loss for words.

"Good night, Joséphine," Erik said silently, and then entered his room, leaving her dumbstruck in the hall.


	23. Old Friends

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Thanks to Luthien Saralonde for beta-ing!_

**Old Friends**

Joséphine awoke the next day, feeling utterly content. She turned lazily over to the right side, trying to recall the wonderful dream she had had.

Suddenly, she jolted upright in her bed. It had not been a dream; Erik had actually kissed her last night after they had returned from dinner. Kissed her and left her standing in front of his door. She remembered standing in the hall for some time after he had said good night, thunderstruck. Groaning, she let herself fall back onto the pillows.

"Will I ever understand this man?" she asked herself, shaking her head.

With an exasperated sigh, she finally got out of bed and called for Mathilde to help her dress. Mathilde was incredibly curious about last night, so Joséphine gave a short account of yesterday's events. Still unsure what to think about it, she left out what had happened after they had come home.

Clara was already seated at the table, her breakfast nearly untouched. She looked up from the morning paper as Joséphine entered the room, folding the journal, clearly eager for a report on the dinner. Joséphine ignored her, helping herself to a hot chocolate and a croissant. Finally, her stepmother wouldn't be ignored any longer and spoke up.

"So, did you and your sham of a husband have a good time?" she said sneering. Joséphine continued ignoring her, and took another sip of her chocolate.

"Tell me, did he embarrass himself in front of the Comtesse?" Clara continued probing for a reaction. Finally, Joséphine put her cup down and looked at her.

"Well, she was discontent that I did not marry a nobleman, but I'm sure she told my father the same thing when you two married," Joséphine replied, enjoying the side blow at Clara's provenance.

Clara had been the sister of her father's assistant, Pierre Rochat, a young man devoted to science. Their parents had owned a bakery before passing away, leaving Pierre and Clara with only a small amount of money. Pierre had just started working as Stanislas d'Escayrac's assistant, and had one evening introduced his sister to his employer.

Stanislas, having been a widower for some years now, was soon head over heels for the young woman. Clara also was fond of him, but she also sensed her opportunity at marrying well without having an acceptable dowry. They married soon after Joséphine's eighteenth birthday; nearly seven years after her mother had died from pneumonia.

Joséphine never saw her as a mother, for Clara was only a few years older than herself. They had never grown very close, but they had gotten along well, at least until Stanislas and Pierre had gone on the expedition to Africa from which they had not yet returned. Since then, Clara saw herself as head of the house, reigning freely over her husband's fortune and doing her best in getting Joséphine out of the picture.

But now, the tide seemed to have turned in favour of Joséphine. Clara paled at the insult, and left abruptly, having lost her appetite. Joséphine finished her breakfast undisturbed, then went to the library, putting up a letter to her friend Louisette to inform her of the latest events.

* * *

Erik had left early in the morning, intent on paying an old friend a visit. While in Paris, Nadir Khan resided in his flat in the Rue de Rivoli, in close proximity to the Tuileries and the Louvre. Erik stood across the building for about an hour, hidden securely in the shadows of a narrow passage, looking up at the windows, until he caught sight of his old friend.

Unseen, he crossed the street and entered, walking up to the second floor. For a minute, he stayed at the apartment door without knocking, not knowing how he would be welcomed on the other side of it. Gaining his resolve, he finally rapped two times.

Only seconds later, the door opened, revealing the Persian. The Daroga took one look at him with wide eyes, then motioned silently for him to enter. As soon as Erik had closed the door behind him, Nadir broke out in a Farsi tirade. Not having heard the Indo-Iranian language in some time, Erik had trouble understanding all, but got the gist of it: Nadir was mad at him.

Finally, the Persian stopped and reverted to his friend's mother language. "What in Allah's name made you do it?" He sat down on the fauteuil and waited for Erik to explain. Erik kept standing near the door, thinking of a way to justify his actions. Finding nothing, he bowed his head in defeat.

Taking pity on his friend, the Daroga stood up again and went to the built-in kitchen in the back corner. "Would you rather discuss everything with a cup of tea?" Erik nodded thankfully and sat down in an armchair.

Minutes later, a steaming cup of tea was in front of him and Nadir had retaken his place on the fauteuil. "Now, my friend, enlighten me," he simply said, waiting for Erik's account.

It took Erik some time to explain the events that had transpired at the opera in the last months. He found it not that hard though, since he had recently told everything Joséphine. Nadir listened without interfering, nodding there and then, especially when Erik showed some self-criticism.

Erik paused, having just told everything up to letting Christine go and leave the burning opera, and took a sip of tea. Nadir looked at him curiously.

"How did you fare since then, Erik? I would have thought you would have retreated to a dark place to mourn and wallow in self-pity, but here I find you looking rather well and quite elegantly dressed. What did you do now?"

His mouth suddenly dry, Erik gulped down the rest of the hot liquid before refilling his cup. He posed the teapot on the table and folded his hands in his lap.

"When I left the opera that night," Erik began, "I was broken. I thought I'd die. The fires of hell seemed welcoming compared to continuing my live forced to stay in the shadows, a perpetual outcast to society. I hid in a church, but was found by a young woman."

He paused, finding everything that had happened since he had met Joséphine much harder to describe. It seemed that he had already achieved some emotional distance from his life at the opera, at least now, talking about it to someone who had known him for years, he felt as if he were another man.

The Daroga raised an eyebrow. "A woman?"

"Joséphine, that's her name. Joséphine Perrault," Erik said, waiting for his friend to process what he had just heard.

It only took a few seconds before Nadir shot up from his sitting position, throwing his hands in the air. "Are you completely out of your mind? Have you learned nothing from your 'relationship' with Christine? How could you?"

Before Nadir could lose himself totally in his rant, Erik's voice boomed through the room.

"Stop it! I will explain, and then I want you to meet her." The Persian looked at him, anger and concern clearly showing in his features, but sat down again, waiting for Erik to continue.

"You just had to assume that I forced her to marry me, right? Now, I have to inform you that it was quite the contrary. She was forced to marry due to a contract she had made with her father. She knew who I was, and she saw my unmasked face, and she still proposed to me, offering me money, shelter and the possibility to stay in Paris in return," Erik explained.

"So she is rich?" Nadir asked unbelievingly.

"She's the only child of the Marquis Stanislas d'Escayrac. I stay with her and her stepmother in the family manor."

"Of all the things I thought happened to you, that is definitely not what I expected," Nadir said. Then, a thought occurred to him. "Why a contract?"

Erik gave a lopsided smile. "Her father wanted to see her married before she grew too old, but she was quite unwilling. So he made up the contract, promising her the whole heritage if she married before her twenty-fifth birthday. Then he left for Africa, and her stepmother," he spat the word, making it quite clear what he thought of her, "made her a prisoner in her own home. With two days left, she broke out, intent on marrying the first suitable man who crossed her paths." His smile became a grin. "She found me."

"She must have offered you quite the sum for accepting her proposal," Nadir assumed.

"She did, but I had no interest in that. I married Joséphine so I could stay close to Christine. As the daughter of a Marquis, she frequents the same circles as the damn Vicomte."

Nadir opened his mouth with the intention to reprimand him for his obsession, but Erik lifted his hand, indicating he was not yet finished. "But now…I am not so sure if it is still Christine I want," Erik admitted.

There, he had finally said it, voiced the concerns that had plagued him since Joséphine had kissed him the first time.

Nadir looked at him for a while; digesting all the news he had just heard. "If Allah would not forbid it, I might say that this is the perfect moment for some alcohol," he finally said. Erik looked taken aback by those words. "This woman, your wife…"

"Joséphine," Erik reminded him.

"Joséphine, she has seen you without your mask?" the Persian asked curiously.

"I already told you," Erik answered impatiently.

"So she accepts you how you are?" Nadir probed on.

"Yes, she does. Last week, she kissed me," Erik said.

"Did she now?" the Daroga asked, smiling. "How did you feel about that?"

"I ran out on her," Erik admitted shamefully.

"Why in Allah's name did you do that?"

"I was confused. She kissed me willingly, no one ever did that. I felt like betraying Christine by returning the kiss."

"Betraying Christine? Erik, she's with the man she loves, let her go. Stop holding on to something that was never yours," Nadir advised him.

"It seems that is exactly what I am doing, because last night, after we returned from a dinner with her friends, it was I who kissed her." It felt good to finally talk about his feelings with somebody.

"I took on this new life to get a chance to win Christine back. But I begin to realise that my chances at doing so are more than slim. The urge to be with her, to have her for me, diminishes every day."

"And what do you feel for your wife?" Nadir inquired.

Erik pondered a moment before giving his answer. He thought about the night he had first met Joséphine, how he waited for her to scream and run away, but she didn't. She had defended him time and time again, against the priest, the registry, her servants, her stepmother, even against her friends. She liked being near him, in spite of all his inefficiencies, and did not mind his touch.

"Honestly, I am not sure," Erik finally said. "I have come to care for her a lot in the last weeks, I enjoy being around her, and when you meet her, you will see how beautiful she is."

"I have the feeling you are already moving on," the Daroga muttered. "When will I have the pleasure of meeting your wife?" he then asked Erik.

"I already told her about you, so maybe tomorrow, if you aren't otherwise engaged? Erik offered.

"Tomorrow will be fine," Nadir replied.

They chatted amiably for another hour, then Erik left after having written down the address of his residence, and walked home to tell Joséphine.

_A/N: I want Erik to play a song in one of the next chapters, one that fits his new situation with Joséphine. My beta and I already had some wonderful ideas, but maybe you, my dear readers, also have great suggestions. Put it in review or PM. Thanks for reading!_


	24. Plans and Countermeasures

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. And another Happy Birthday to my beta! Thanks for still doing your job, even on a special day like this!_

**Plans and Countermeasures**

Joséphine was delighted to hear that she would finally have the chance to meet one of Erik's friends. She was looking forward to finally meeting someone of his past, someone who knew who Erik was, and she couldn't wait to talk to him alone to ask him a few questions about her husband.

Maybe because Erik sensed that Joséphine would do exactly that, he suggested they invite Nadir for dinner rather than afternoon tea, because Clara's presence would cause Joséphine to refrain from being too prying. Joséphine was not too happy about that, but she was sure that she would get a chance to talk to the Persian alone.

Erik made up a note with the invitation for dinner, and after Joséphine had left to do some Saturday afternoon shopping, he went up to his room, for inspiration had struck him the first time since having finished Don Juan Triumphant.

Before his inner eyes, Joséphine's face appeared. When he had met her today after coming home from Nadir, she had blushed furiously, her eyes searching his face for any explanation for his last night's behaviour.

Still, he had been unwilling to give anything away yet. It already had cost him a lot to admit his growing feelings for his wife to himself, and then to the Daroga, but he still wasn't prepared to talk to her about it.

His fingers played an invisible piano across his thighs as he set eyes upon Clara, who had just come out of the master bedroom, a young servant girl he had never seen before in tow. Upon seeing him, she stopped talking abruptly to the maid, which immediately raised his suspicions. He gave her a nod and continued towards his rooms, while Clara and the maid walked towards the stairs that led to the servant's quarters on the upper floor.

Stopping at his door, Erik turned around and addressed Clara. "Just so you know, we will have a guest at tomorrow's dinner," he said, waiting for her reaction.

Clara whirled around, anger clearly written over her face. "How dare you invite someone in my house without asking for my consent first?" she all but yelled at him.

"As far as I know, the house is part of Joséphine's inheritance, so actually, it belongs to my wife and me," Erik replied calmly, a sneer appearing on his masked face. "We have every right to do as we please."

Clara's mouth fell open, and her hand gripped the banister forcefully. Intimidated, the maid took a step back, not wanting to become the target of her new Mistress' wrath, since she apparently had no power over the strange Master.

"You will regret this insolence, both you _and_ Joséphine," Clara spat finally, her eyes taking on a maddening gleam. She turned around, grabbing the servant by the arm so hard that she elicited a gasp from the girl. "Come, I will inform you of your duties," she said, hasting to get away from her 'son-in-law'.

As long as Erik had been here, he had never seen Clara interact much with the servants. The only one she talked to was her personal maid, an elderly woman named Camille, most times giving instructions that the maid had then to relate to the rest of the household. It made him curious that Clara was ready to instruct a new servant herself, so, using his Phantom skills of walking around unseen and unheard, he followed the two women upstairs, listening into their conversation.

* * *

When Joséphine came home from shopping, carrying three bags of different sizes, an exhausted, but content look on her face, she was surprised to find Erik in her room. He stood with the back to her, looking out the window, his posture rigid and tense. She knew immediately that something was troubling him, so she placed the bags on her bed and approached him.

Before she got too close, he turned around, a serious look on his face. "We need to talk," he stated, his voice a bit hoarse.

"I already figured that much," Joséphine replied, sitting down on her favourite chair at the window, while Erik remained standing. She clasped her hands and waited for him to begin.

"Did you already meet the new maid who's to replace Mathilde while she's sick?" he asked her, having returned to looking out of the window.

"Fanny? Yes, I met her in the hall. She seems a bit shy, but she's so young. What about her?" Joséphine asked curiously.

"She's paid by Clara to pry on you," Erik told her. Joséphine's eyes widened, but before she could respond, he said more. "Mathilde's illness is no accident. I believe it is Clara's doing."

Joséphine gasped. That morning, while she helped her lady dress, Mathilde had started complaining about stomach aches, and her condition had become worse during the day. She was unable to hold her food, and had developed a fever. The doctor had been called, diagnosing food poisoning. He said that though it might look severe, she would be up and able to work again a few days from now.

Joséphine tried to grasp what she had just heard. She had been worried for her friend, and very glad to find out that she would recover soon, but the thought of someone harming her friend to get to her made her blood run cold. She looked up at Erik. "You mean Clara…she…she tried to poison her? Why, why would she do that?"

Erik moved his head to look at her, and, seeing her distress, he knelt down before her, handing her a handkerchief. "Mathilde is your friend, she would never betray you. Clara needs someone close to you who reports only to her."

"But there's nothing to report, why doesn't she just ask me, instead of harming my friend?" Joséphine asked, tears streaming down her face.

"Yes there is. The girl has the assignment to find out if you're pregnant…" he began.

"But we haven't even…" Joséphine exclaimed.

"Or else to find proof that we did not consummate our marriage, giving Clara the means to go against us," Erik continued.

Joséphine sat stock still for a moment, the implications of what he had just said sinking in. "Oh my God," she choked out.

Through her tears, she looked at her husband, wanting to know how he felt about that, but his mask made it difficult for her to interpret his expression. Slowly, she raised her hand towards his right side.

Immediately, Erik recoiled, landing ungracefully (and unphantomly) on his behind. He gave her a scathing look, clearly blaming her for his mishap. The corners of her mouth lifted slightly.

"I won't talk to you about a matter as serious as this while you hide behind that thing," Joséphine stated simply.

Erik stood up, brushing off his pants. "You don't know what you are saying."

"Will you stop it, Erik? We don't have the time to talk about this issue again. I told others I don't care what you look like behind your mask, how often do I have to tell you?" she replied exasperated.

She got up and approached him, glad that he didn't move, though his posture betrayed his tension. Slowly, her hand reached towards the mask again, this time removing it together with the wig in one fluid motion.

It had been a while since she had seen him without his accessories. She remembered being terrified when he had stepped into the light in the church that fateful night they had met. His eyes had blazed with nearly undisguised fury, making his deformity look even worse.

Even now, she felt uncomfortable looking at him too long. But then she chided herself for judging him for something he had no influence in. She had come to know him, and she couldn't say she loved him without accepting him as he was.

With only slightly trembling hands, she touched the uneven surface of his right cheek, causing him to look at her. She could see the fear of rejection clearly in his eyes, and she fought against the tears that threatened to well up again in her own. What seemed like minutes were only seconds before she spoke again.

* * *

Erik knew she had seen his deformity before today, but still, as her hand had moved towards the mask, he was certain that this time, she would turn away from him upon lying eyes on his hideous face.

How could she stand there before him, knowing his face, knowing the blackness of his soul, having heard from his own mouth the atrocities he had committed, and still look at him calmly without condemning him?

And then she touched him, touched his deformity, without flinching away. Golden eyes got lost in green ones, and he heard her as if from far away. "Can we go back now to talk about how we are going to handle this new development?"

His first thought was that she was too uncomfortable talking about his monstrous side, but then, what was there to talk about? She had told him on multiple occasions that she accepted him, and she had proofed it time and time again, willing to be patient until she had finally earned his trust.

She was right, there were more important things that needed their full attention, but what he wanted to do was take her in his arms and kiss her without the confinements his mother, society and he himself had placed upon him.

Stopping the wandering of his thoughts, Erik turned his sharp mind to the matter at hand. Gently, he lifted her hand from his face, and made her sit down again, then pulled up the chair from her desk to sit across from her.

Joséphine looked at him expectantly. "So, what are we going to do? Shall I refuse Fanny's service?"

Erik shook his head. "It would not be wise to inform Clara so soon that we are aware of her schemes."

"What do you suggest, a trap?" Joséphine asked curiously.

"Sort of," Erik replied. Ever since he had overheard Clara and the new maid he had come up with several plans, but had soon discarded them as fruitless. Now, given the reaction, or lack thereof, Joséphine had given him upon seeing him unmasked, a new plan started to form in his mind.

"The girl will probably ask questions about us, so you will have to be careful what you say to her," Erik said.

"I know that," she replied indignantly. Erik gave her an excusing look.

"Don't let any correspondences lie around openly, and when we talk, we better make sure beforehand that we won't be overheard," he said further. Joséphine nodded.

"Given the duration of our marriage," he proceeded, his tone now guarded, "it would be unwise to stage the consummation so long after the bond was made."

"Especially given the fact we told Clara that it was already done," Joséphine smiled, though somewhat sadly, giving Erik hope this plan would work without her objection.

"Until now, it was Mathilde that woke you in the morning, right?" Erik inquired, which Joséphine confirmed. "Being your friend, she would never tell anyone what she saw, or didn't see."

She nodded again, unsure what he was getting at. "Since Mathilde will be replaced by Fanny, it is up to us to decide what she will see."

"I am not sure what you are talking about," Joséphine said hesitantly.

"Would you be willing to spend the night with me?" Erik began, and rashly explained himself when he saw the surprise on her face. "I mean, I could come to your room early in the morning, so the girl will see us in the same bed when she comes to wake you."

As Joséphine still said nothing, only continued looking at him with a strange expression, his hopes fell. "I promise I won't harm you," he said gloomily, trying to reassure her of his sincerity.

"Why?" Joséphine asked him suddenly.

"It does not have to be tonight, or tomorrow, but…" Erik started but Joséphine wasn't finished.

"Why not spend the whole night with me?" she asked him in a low voice.

Erik had hoped for her acceptance, but he had not expected that response to his proposal. "You would be willing to…"

"You are my husband after all, and though having separate bed chambers is highly common in my class, I certainly would not mind your company."

Inwardly, Joséphine was surprised by her boldness. When she had first kissed him, he had shied away like an animal from fire. Then, last night, he had shocked her by initiating a kiss on his own. He certainly seemed to have developed some feelings for her, and now undermining Clara's efforts to manipulate them gave her an unexpected opening to assure him that she really cared for him, wanted him.

Erik rose from the chair and knelt once again in front of her. Grasping her hands with one of his one, his other rose to caress her face. "Joséphine, you are…" he searched for a word, but found none that fit her, "…more than I ever deserve."

Fighting the urge to close her eyes, she leaned into his touch. "Erik…" Then she closed the distance between them and kissed him. This time she met no resistance at all, though his eyes fluttered open when she placed gentle kisses on his marred flesh; he couldn't remember closing them.

After what seemed too short for both of them, they broke apart. When she spoke, Erik could feel her breath against his flesh. It was wonderful. "So you will come to me tonight?" she whispered.

Erik moved back a bit to look at her. "No." Seeing the hurt look that appeared on her face he continued.

"Tomorrow, after dinner with Nadir. I must go out on business tonight, and will probably return late. I don't want to disturb and wake you." The smile she gave him was like nothing that had ever been bestowed upon him before.

"Tomorrow then," she said simply. Then she reached out again to draw him in for a kiss.


	25. Dinner with Nadir

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Luthien, thanks for your support!_

**Nadir**

Sunday evening came, and as Joséphine left her room, she was surprised to find Erik waiting for her, so they could go down together. She blushed almost immediately, remembering the heated kisses they had exchanged the day before. Erik took her hand and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss, regarding her intently as he did so, and silently offered her his arm to accompany her down.

Since it was an informal dinner, they had opted for a simple setting, leaving out the reception in the living room, so they sat down at the dining table, waiting for their guest to arrive. Clara was still upstairs when the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of Nadir. Erik went to the parlour to welcome his friend, while Joséphine remained in the dining room, nervously smoothing down non existent wrinkles on her simple mauve coloured dress.

Moments later, Erik re-entered the room, followed by a man of medium height and clad in western clothes, though his dark complexion indicated his oriental origin. He seemed a bit older than Erik, but the wrinkles he wore around his mouth and eyes showed him as a person of great warmth and humour. Before Erik could make the official presentation, Nadir shot forward and took both of Joséphine's hand is his, greeting her warmly.

"Forgive my forwardness, Madame, but I was most curious to meet you since Erik told me about you. I see now he was not truthful to me," Nadir said, his dark eyes glittering with mirth. "You are even more beautiful than he told me."

Joséphine graced him with a big smile upon this compliment, taking a glance at Erik, who had already positioned himself in front of his chair and eyed his friend suspiciously, as if he was not sure what to think of the outgoing behaviour of his friend.

"I am honoured to meet a friend of my husband at last, you are most welcome in this house, Monsieur Khan," Joséphine said.

A voice from the doorframe stopped the exchange of niceties.

"Oh yes, most welcome indeed," Clara said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Contrary to Joséphine, she wore a very elegant and expensive looking ice blue coloured dress with pearls attached to the fabric. She also had pearls woven into her blond hair, giving the impression of an ice princess. She waltzed into the room, making clear that she thought herself the lady of the house and the foreign guest anything else but welcome.

Erik shot daggers at her, gripping the back of his chair tightly, while Joséphine thought a quick prayer, begging the heavens to get them unharmed through this dinner.

Ignoring the growing tension, Nadir walked up to Clara and bowed formally. "I should be sorry for disturbing your peaceful Sunday evening by coming here for dinner," he paused a moment, observing Clara's face closely," but I cannot truthfully say I am, for I would not have had the chance to be in the company of such beautiful women as you and your daughter, Madame la Marquise."

Clara looked momentarily appeased by the compliment Nadir had made, though she would have preferred him to not extend it towards Joséphine out of courtesy, for she thought herself to be much prettier than her stepdaughter, even though she was older than her. Graciously, she offered him her hand, and after formal introductions, the four sat down to dinner.

It was Joséphine who immediately started the conversation, not able to contain her curiosity. "How long will you be in town, Monsieur Khan?"

"Quite some time, I think," Nadir replied. "Erik and I have a lot of catching up to do."

"Were you in Persia before coming here?" Joséphine continued.

Nadir waited with his answer until the first course was served and the maids had left the room. "No, I was travelling across Europe for the last months," he answered somewhat sadly.

Erik knew his friend missed his homeland, and that he had not had the chance to return there for some time now. "But I am looking forward going home in the near future."

Erik could swear he saw the images his wife conjured before her inner eye, imagining all the places and things the Daroga had seen. Maybe, if everything worked out between them, he would take her on a long journey to see everything with her own eyes, sort of a belated honeymoon.

"What is your profession, Monsieur Khan, are you an architect as well?" Clara chided in.

Smirking, Nadir turned his head to answer her. "No, I am lacking the imagination for an artistic profession such as Erik's. I am now retired, but in Persia I worked at the Court of the Shah, the Persian King, as a law enforcement agent. But I have also some medical expertise," he added, remebering what Erik had told him the day earlier about him posing as a doctor from abroad, should anyone ask.

"Why is that?" Joséphine asked immediately, nearly forgetting her soup over the interesting topic.

"Poisoning is a very common crime in the Middle East," Erik explained before Nadir had the chance to do so, forcing himself not to shoot an accusing look at Clara that would tell her they were knowledgeable of her plans.

Nadir nodded, playing along even though he did not know why Erik had brought this particular example up. "Yes, knowing the workings of the body and the elements that can be used to influence it or do it any harm makes inquiries more efficient," he explained a wondrous Joséphine.

"My knowledge often helped me catch the criminal very quickly." His trained eyes did not fail to notice the faint paleness that had crossed Clara's face for a split second. He chose to keep a closer eye on her reactions on the topics they engaged, and also to ask Erik if anything had happened since they had parted ways yesterday.

Joséphine shot question after question at Nadir, only giving him the time to swallow before pressing for the next answer. She inquired about Persia, the animals, plants and people of the Middle East, their customs and how they differed from European traditions. Nadir answered each and every question with the utmost patience, while Clara and Erik remained mostly quiet during this time, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

When the main course was served, Joséphine gave her guest a short pause, relishing in the taste of the delicious meat and side dishes. It was then that Clara spoke up.

"You told us so much of your origins, Monsieur Khan, but how is it you met Erik in Persia?"

"We were both working for the Court, I as an agent, and Erik as the Court architect. He designed various buildings for the Shah and his mother, the Khanum." Joséphine noticed Erik twitch as Nadir mentioned the Khanum, but she remained silent, wanting to ask him in private about it.

"Some of them were not very liked by the Shah's enemies, and it was among my duties to protect him," Nadir continued. "By the way, I got a message from a friend at the Court, informing me that the Khanum has died," he addressed Erik, trying to appear nonchalantly, but Joséphine instantly sensed that this was a delicate subject.

Erik's normally stoic face showed a myriad of emotions for a few seconds, before he got himself back under control. His golden eyes glowed almost amber as he spoke but one word. "How?"

"One of her slaves stabbed her with the shard of a broken vase after she inflicted one of her usual punishments on him," the Daroga replied in a flat tone. Both Clara and Joséphine gasped. "You should know that she was not the nicest of persons," he informed the women.

"What an understatement," Erik murmured, making it clear that he would not mourn the death of the Khanum. Joséphine reached out and put her hand on his, showing him her support, and was rewarded with a grateful look.

Nadir could not refrain from commenting on this simple gesture of affection. "It makes me happy to see my friend finally finding happiness," he said, smiling fondly at both of them.

"Truth be told, I never thought I would see Erik married, but it seems to become him well, both of you." His statement was rewarded with a small snort coming out of Clara's mouth. She threw her napkin on the table and looked at them with disdain.

"The future has yet to prove how well this union will become each of you," she said, unable to keep the underlying threat out of her voice. "If you will excuse me now, I don't seem to feel very well and I prefer the silence of my room to recover." Before the gentlemen had the chance to get up, she stood and left the room.

"My, my, what an exit," Nadir stated, while Joséphine still looked at the door through with her stepmother had disappeared, a thoughtful look on her face. "She does not seem to enjoy our company very much. Or maybe something I said upset her?" he challenged Erik.

"I wouldn't know what," Erik replied, a strange glint coming to his eyes. "Apart from you telling her of your talent in detecting poisonings just the day that Joséphine's maid falls ill." Nadir's face lit up and he nodded understandingly.

"I see. With someone so close to you striving to drive you apart, you will have to be very careful."

"We will, and I appreciate your concern," Joséphine answered. "Let us have coffee and dessert in the winter garden, we will be less exposed to prying eyes and ears there," she proposed.

* * *

The winter garden was towards the back of the house, and separated from the back parlour through a big glass front, making it unable for anyone to approach it without being seen. Joséphine's father had always brought back plants from his many journeys, teaching his daughter about the vegetation in other places of the world.

Throughout the years, the winter garden had become more and more of an exotic jungle, since his last expeditions had let Stanislas d'Escayrac mostly into inner Africa. Clara always complained about the high humidity the botanic collection required, stating it was giving her a head ache, so the garden had become one of Joséphine's most cherished places in the house, knowing she would be at peace, surrounded by her father's souvenirs.

Nadir was very impressed by the garden, telling his host that plants stood in high regard in the Islamic culture.

"We come from the dessert, so plants signify water, and without water, there is no life," he explained, following her to a white seating arrangement in the centre of the room.

One of the kitchen maids had followed them and put two pots, sugar, some fruits and cake on the table, curtsied and then left quietly. Erik closed and locked the glass door after she had left, then chose a seat that would allow him to observe the door and the whole parlour behind it. He opened the top button of his shirt and loosened the nod of his tie, then reached behind him and gave Joséphine her fan, which she put to use immediately against the warm humid air, since it was not appropriate for a woman of her standing to undo parts of her clothing in company.

"Feel free to get more comfortable," Joséphine told the Persian. "I love this place, but even I appreciate the cooling breeze my fan produces." Nadir did as recommended, then nodded as Joséphine poured him some coffee. Taking a small piece of the almond tart, he leaned back in his chair and looked at the couple.

"It seems your life will never lack interest or diversion, my boy," the Daroga said smiling. "Though it appears to have greatly improved in the last months," he added, looking at Joséphine, who blushed slightly.

"Still, there are things left to accomplish," Erik replied pensively, glancing at his wife, whose blush deepened.

"Yes, we need to make sure Clara stops her interfering," she added.

"Do you have a plan?" Nadir asked. Erik nodded, but the blush that now crept onto Joséphine's face made it clear to Nadir to not inquire further about the makings of said plan.

The conversation returned once more to Nadir's homeland, and with Clara absent, Erik felt at ease enough to tell a bit about his time in Persia as well. Joséphine listened intently, loving to hear more about her husband's past. Time flew by as they covered various topics, from places Joséphine had only ever dreamed about, but both men already had been to, to politics or modern arts.

Erik knew his wife to be smart, but was once more impressed by how much she knew. Being the daughter of a scientist, she never contented herself with the knowledge common of her standing and sex, always thriving for more. The library and her father's office had always been some of her favourite places, his accounts and her many books portals to the world she was denied to discover on her own, being a woman.

Nadir took a look at his pocket watch, surprised by the late hour, and stood up from his chair.

"I have overstrained your hospitality, my dear friends. It is time for me to leave."

Joséphine assured him that he would always be welcome in their home, then walked him together with Erik to the front door. At this late hour, the house was silent; most of the servants had already gone to bed. When they arrived at the front parlour, Nadir asked if he could have a private word with Erik. Joséphine said her goodbyes and turned towards the stairs, but was stopped by Erik's hand on her arm.

"Do you still want to spend the night with me, Joséphine?" he whispered into her ear. She gave him a reassuring smile.

"I will wait for you upstairs," she simply said, then left the two men alone.

The parlour suddenly felt warmer than only seconds before, and Erik had trouble concentrating on what his friend was trying to tell him. His thoughts travelled upstairs, where his wife was waiting for him, and Nadir had to wave his hand in front of his eyes to regain Erik's attention.

"One would say that's the first time she's waiting for you to come to her, Erik," Nadir said in good humour, unaware of how close he was to the truth. Erik shook his head to clear himself of his carnal thoughts, and motioned for the Persian to continue.

"I am meeting Madame Giry in a few days. Do you want me to tell her about your whereabouts?"

Erik answered almost immediately. "No, please don't. If she asks, tell her I am well, but that we only had written correspondence since your return to Paris. I want everyone to believe that I am either dead or have left for good."

"I understand, my friend. Now, up you go to your beautiful wife. Enjoy the rest of the night." With that, he walked through the door, closing it behind him.

Erik looked after his friend for a second, then turned towards the stairs. Whereas only moments before he couldn't wait to join Joséphine in her room, he now was worried of what would happen once he got there.

Letting out a deep breath, he mounted the stairs, turned and knocked on his wife's door. He could only hope that whatever he was going to do would be adequate.


	26. Spending the Night

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._

**Spending the Night**

After Joséphine had left Erik and Nadir downstairs, she nearly flew up the stairs and into her room. She had wanted for some time now to be with Erik, but now, only minutes before her wish would come true, she was incredibly nervous.

She had no idea what would happen once he entered her quarters, what he expected of her. Would they just share the same bed sleeping, or would there be more? She knew about the workings between men and women only from books, since she had been too young for such talks when her mother had died, and she never had the confidence to seek Clara out about this delicate subject.

In the early days of their marriage, she had been glad that Erik was too broken-hearted and too much of a gentleman to claim his marital rights, but now she was no longer opposed to giving himself to him completely.

Still, she assumed that Erik was nearly as new to this as she was, and that thought comforted her a little. So, when she heard his knock at her door, asking for entry, her voice trembled only slightly.

Erik opened the door to find Joséphine standing in the middle of the room, fiddling nervously with her dress. Apprehensive to find her as nervous as he felt himself, he remained close to the door.

"I can still spend the night in my room and come here in the morning, Joséphine."

"No," she replied almost instantly, blushing once more. "I was the one asking you to spend the night here with me, and I am not going to recoil now."

Reassured, Erik gained back some of his confidence and strode over to her, taking one of her hands in his. She gave him a sly smile at this comforting gesture.

"I will go to my room while you change," Erik said, releasing her hand. Before he could turn, Joséphine halted him, her nervous expression replaced by a resolute look.

"How do you think I will get out of this dress then?" Joséphine asked him. At his confused look, she elaborated.

"It is impossible to get out of a laced dress alone. And it would certainly look strange if Fanny sees me in the morning still wearing the same dress. Besides, a corset would be much too restrictive to sleep in," she challenged him, though Erik could not help but notice the slight tremor in her voice. Then she turned around, offering her back to him.

Normally, Joséphine would have Mathilde helping undress her, but since she was sick and she knew she couldn't trust Fanny, she had told the young maid that she was free for the night after having helped her dress for dinner. Secretly, she had hoped that Erik would take the initiative.

Erik's eyes washed over her; even in this simple dress, she looked good, her curves even more accentuated by the tightly laced corset she wore. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the top of her dress, just below her hairline. Slowly, he began to untie the laces.

His fingertips brushed the sensitive skin of her neck, and he heard Joséphine gasp in surprise. Erik nearly jerked away, but then tentatively finished unlacing her dress, while Joséphine held her arms in front of her chest to keep the dress from slipping over her shoulders.

Once Erik was finished, he backed away and faced the wall to give her enough privacy to change. Still, he heard the rustling of the fabric as it slipped to the floor, then the creaking of the floorboard as she stepped out of it.

His mind started reeling, images of scantily dressed ballet rats rising up in his head. He had never openly stalked them, but, having lived in the opera for years, it was impossible to not have come across some dancers in a nearly undressed state now and then.

Yet, hearing a woman he was drawn to undress without seeing her was more fascinating than all the girls he had laid eyes upon in the opera. He was amused that even though it had been her idea to spend the night together, Joséphine was ashamed of changing her clothes in front of him.

'In spite of her bravery in other matters, she's really innocent,' he thought, 'just like Christine.' On more than one occasion, Joséphine had defied and openly challenged him, whereas Christine had been cowing either in awe or angst before him, fearing his temper.

Christine was someone to put on a pedestal; Joséphine was much more anchored in the real world. Erik still felt deep love and a certain longing for his former pupil, but her betrayal hurt less now than it had those weeks ago.

When he heard the rustling of the bedcovers, he turned around again to find Joséphine under the blanket, which she had drawn up to her chin, looking at him expectantly. It came to him now that while Joséphine changed, he could have done the same in his rooms, and going now would certainly not help to ease the situation. He went to the chair at the window and donned his jacket and waistcoat, hanging it carefully over the back of the chair, then removed his tie, shoes and socks. Leaving his trousers and shirt on, Erik approached the bed.

While Erik undressed, Joséphine was torn between averting her eyes and casting glances towards where he was. She was grateful that he decided against fully unclothing himself, but men's clothes were much less uncomfortable to sleep in than those of women. As he slipped under the covers, she could feel the chill that came off his body, and she involuntarily shivered.

"Are you alright?" Erik asked, concerned.

"I am…fine, thank you," she replied. Both stayed as close to their edge of the bed as possible, the space between them suddenly feeling insurmountable. Nervously, Joséphine shifted, unused to having another person in bed next to her. Minutes passed, and the silence pressed uncomfortably upon them. Erik turned slightly and unintentionally, his hand grazed Joséphine's hips, making her jump.

"I am sorry," he said immediately, moving away from her.

"Oh God," Joséphine whispered, frustrated. Feeling rejected, Erik started to climb out of the bed.

"Don't leave!" she begged him. "That's not what I meant." Stilling, he remained at the edge of the bed.

"This is ridiculous," she observed, turning to face him. "There is no need for us to behave as we did just now. We are both adults, and we are not doing anything wrong."

She extended her hand to touch his shoulder and he turned to face her. "Please, come back to bed, Erik."

Giving a short nod, Erik obliged, and as he lay down again, they both turned to face each other. Since all but one gas lamp had been turned down, casting everything in shadows, they could only make out each other's contours in the near dark.

Erik looked at her thoughtfully. He did not know if she expected anything from him besides sharing the bed. If her reaction to his haphazardly touch was any indication, she did not.

He could not have been more wrong.

Joséphine studied the man facing her, her features carefully schooled. He seemed to be afraid of her rejection, though it had not been her intention to make him feel this way. She had just been surprised by the contact, feeling his cool skin nearly on hers, only a thin layer of nightclothes between them. It was unexpected, but not unwanted.

Looking at him now, she had problems interpreting his mood, for he lay with the masked side up. She wondered if he always slept with the mask on or only kept it for her, but she did not dare ask.

"Erik?" she finally ended the silence, unable to fall asleep without addressing what had just occurred.

"Yes," came his muffled answer.

"I…" she paused, trying to find the right words, biting her lower lip nervously. "I just wanted to say that I…don't mind you touching me," she finally confessed.

"Then why did you jerk away?" he demanded, hurt clearly evident in his voice.

"You surprised me," she explained. "But I won't jerk back now."

Erik looked at her for a moment, considering what she had just said. Then, he slowly extended his hand to caress Joséphine's face. She leaned into the touch, showing him that she did indeed want it. He was perplexed. Never before had a woman willingly wanted to be touched by him.

He had been with women before, but all these encounters had been forced upon him by the Khanum. She used to punish disobedient slaves like that. He could still recall the horrors in their faces as he lay above them. It was even worse when the Khanum forced him to take off the mask. Drugs had made him comply, made him force himself upon the screaming women, their fear chilling his blood, but the drugs preventing him from disobeying.

But as he looked at Joséphine now, he could see neither repulsion nor fear, only acceptance. Encouraged, he let his hand wander down to her neck, eliciting a gasp as he touched her just above the brim of her nightdress. He bent over to kiss her, stopping short of her face, asking permission. The look she gave him was answer enough. He closed the final distance and pressed his lips on hers.

It was a soft, slow kiss, much like the first one Joséphine had initiated. His hand stilled momentarily as she scooted closer and he felt her fingertips beneath his right ear, marvelled at how wonderful her fingers felt on his skin. Joséphine's fingers glided along the edge of the mask, never once touching it. She then continued towards the back, caressing his neck. He desperately wanted to feel her touch on his blemished skin and real hair as well, but did not dare taking his protections off, knowing they would be wakened by Fanny in the morning.

Joséphine let her hand slip down the back of his shirt. Before Erik registered what she was doing, she had touched one of the many scars that splattered across his back. Embarrassed, he drew away from her. Even in the shadows, he could see the shocked and worried expression on her face.

"What happened to you?" she asked, concerned. Erik gave a weary smile, taking her hand in his, playing with her fingers.

"A lot of things happened to me. Whips, chains, riding crops, canes, bare hands. There are many things I was beaten with," he told her flatly.

"Who did this?" Joséphine pressed on.

First Erik wanted to say 'Everyone who ever saw me without the mask,' but that wasn't the entire truth.

There were a few people who did eventually not mind who and what he was, but Joséphine seemed to be the first one to truly accept him, all of him, with mask and without. She did not deserve his cynicism.

"My mother, the gypsies I ran into as a boy, various people I met while travelling, and of course, the Khanum," he confessed, his voice detached.

"You…your mother…oh God!" Joséphine gasped, incredulous.

"She couldn't stand the sight of me," Erik remembered. "It was her that presented me with my first mask."

"Oh Erik." Instinctively she leaned forward and captured his mouth with hers, showing him that at least one person wanted to be close to him, one person that cared, one person that could accept and love him just like he was. Erik lost himself in the kiss, grateful for her affection.

After a while, Joséphine broke the kiss, looking at him. She lifted one hand to his mask and placed her palm full on it, making no attempt to take it off.

"No one, no one deserves what you have been through," she said determined. "The people who did this to you," she motioned towards his back, "are the real monsters here. You are a good man…"

At Erik's snort, she cast him a stern look. "…despite your temper, bitterness and cynical behaviour. What you have been through made you who you are and brought you here."

'To me,' she added in her head. "And I lo…like you very much."

Joséphine hoped that Erik had not heard her near slip, and was grateful for the darkness hiding her blush. She did not want him to know yet how much she had come to care for him, even though his behaviour towards her had changed considerably in the last time. As long as she could not be sure that he definitely returned her feelings and was no longer in love with Christine de Chagny, she had vowed to not confess her love to him.

But Erik had heard, though he didn't know what to think of it. He had told her once that he did not deem himself worthy of love, and now it seemed he had hers. The only problem was that he was not sure yet of his own feelings.

Embarrassed and thinking that she had said too much at that point of their relationship, Joséphine turned and laid on her back.

"I am really tired now, would you mind going to sleep now?" she asked, turning her head to face him.

Erik looked at her for a moment, and nodded. "Good night, Joséphine."

"Good night, Erik," she replied, smiling, then bent once more over to give him a quick peck on the mouth before nestling down into the covers.

_A/N: I spent the weekend in London, and I tried to get tickets for the Phantom at the Opera at Her Majesty's Theatre, but it was already sold out. I did get a small poster of the show though. Maybe I get lucky next time._

_Thanks for reading!_


	27. The Next Morning

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Luthien, thanks for being so quick this time, you're so cool!_

**THE NEXT MORNING**

Exhausted as she was, Joséphine dozed off after a few minutes, while Erik remained awake. He was used to not having much sleep and old habits were hard to change. He laid there for quite a while, staring at the darkened ceiling, now and then glancing over to the sleeping woman beside him.

He thought about everything that had happened in the past months, and the drastic changes his life had gone through. Before he had met Joséphine, he had sincerely thought about taking his life, and only the hope of seeing his beloved Christine again kept him from committing suicide. But now it was no longer Christine that was constantly on the front of his mind.

Being with Joséphine had changed him more than he had realised. When he left the opera house, his heart and soul were torn apart by the unrequited love he felt for Christine. Life was a living hell, and his hatred and self-loathing seemed to be all consuming. Her acceptance and interest in him from the moment their paths had crossed slowly made him make peace with himself, and the world.

She was the first woman to not let herself be hindered by the great barrier that was his disfigurement. All the others had turned from him upon seeing what lay beneath the mask: his mother, Luciana, even Christine at first. He felt at home here with her, his wanderings and quests for love and acceptance now at end.

His thoughts were interrupted by Joséphine, who suddenly turned and nestled up against him. Unconsciously, she let her fingers crawl over his torso. He looked down at the woman at his side. She had nearly confessed her love to him, he was sure about that. Feeling her shivering, he brought the covers up to keep her warm. He was rewarded with a content smile on her face.

Calmed by her hand stroking him, he finally drifted off to a peaceful slumber.

* * *

The next morning a knock at the door woke the both of them, Erik faster than Joséphine, who simply buried her head deeper in the crook of his neck, trying to stay asleep.

Before Erik could react, the door was open and Fanny bounced in, walking straight to the window to draw the curtains open.

"Morning, Madame, I hope you had a pleasant sleep," she announced, then nearly toppled over when she turned around to face the bed. Her hand flew to her mouth.

"I…oh my God, I am so sorry, I didn't…" she said, clearly startled.

Erik glared at her. "That's why you wait for an answer before entering, stupid girl," he addressed her coldly.

Next to him, Joséphine slightly raised her head, her eyes still heavy with sleep. She squinted them against the light coming in from the window, then noticed Fanny standing next to it. Suddenly wide-awake, she realised that if Fanny turned to the chair behind her, she would probably find Erik's pants and shirt missing from the rest of his clothes. Fortunately, Erik and she were totally covered by the blanket.

Thinking quickly, she feigned not having noticed Fanny yet, and drew even closer to Erik. "Is it morning already?" she asked, making sure to speak loud enough for Fanny to hear her.

Erik slightly turned his head, not sure what she was up to. "You should really not keep me awake all night, my love," she continued.

Having caught up, Erik moved his hand under the blanket, stroking her body. "Hush, go back to sleep, you need your rest." He turned back to Fanny, who was nearly across the room now, ready to dart for the open door.

"Don't come into our room uncalled like that again, or you might stumble on something even more embarrassing for you," he said to the disturbed maid, whose face had turned the shade of a tomato. She simply nodded, then dashed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

The couple waited a few seconds, making sure that Fanny was down the corridor before they finally relaxed. It was Erik who spoke first.

"Keeping you up all night? I wasn't aware of that. What did you dream?" he asked her, his eyes glinting. Joséphine blushed instantly, exactly the reaction he was hoping for. It hit him then that he had never stopped caressing her.

Seeing her lying next to him, an urge suddenly overwhelmed him and he caught her lips with his, kissing her hungrily. Startled, Joséphine yelped, but soon gave in and kissed him back nearly as forcefully. Their bodies became entangled, and a jolt shook them as Erik's hands suddenly touched bare skin, his wife's nightdress having moved up. He kept his hand still, but as Joséphine moaned against his mouth, he continued.

Her skin was soft and smooth, and so much warmer than his. It aroused him to no end, and apparently, affected Joséphine in the same way, for she tore at his shirt, trying to gain better access to him. When she accidentally touched him through his pants, he knew he would not last for long. He either had to stop or go all the way now.

It took him more strength than he thought to move away from her. Joséphine looked at him puzzled.

"Why did you stop?" Her lips were red from their heated kisses, her eyes glazed over, and she was panting.

"It is not the right moment," he offered as meagre explanation, getting up. When she looked at him disappointed, a small pout on her face, he wondered if he had made the right decision.

That according to him it was not time yet for them to become that 'acquainted' was only part of why he refused to continue. He needed to be sure about his feelings for Joséphine, and that meant for him to see Christine again. And as she and the Chagny boy would only be back from their honeymoon in a few weeks, he had decided to wait.

God only knew how hard that would eventually be.

After having put on his shoes and jacket, Erik returned to the bed, sitting down again, and took Joséphine's hand. He searched her face for any indication of her mood. He hoped she was not too angry with him for having stopped.

"Please don't be disappointed, Joséphine," he began awkwardly, "but…"

"…I am not her," she said, removing her hand from his grasp and turning to the side. "Just leave, Erik, please."

She had seen right through him, and now she sent him away because he had not been able to commit himself fully to her. He felt a stab of regret, but quelled it, knowing that there was nothing he could do at the moment.

Standing up again, he grabbed the rest of his clothes and went to the connecting door. "I promise you that we will finish what we started. I simply beg you to give me time," he told her, begging for her to understand. He received no reply, so he went to his rooms, closing the door softly behind him.

* * *

Clara was sitting in her bed, having breakfast, when she heard a knock at the door.

"Come in," she said, putting her croissant down.

Fanny opened the door and closed it behind her, curtsying before her mistress. Clara eyed her arrogantly. "You have something to report?" she asked the maid.

"Yes, Madame la Marquise. I went to wake up the young Madame right now, and, upon entering, I found her and the Monsieur in quite a compromising situation," the girl said, shifting from one foot to another, her hands clasped behind her back.

Clara sat up straighter, curious. "How compromising?"

"Well, they were in the bed of the Madame, naked, and kissing," Fanny explained, clearly uncomfortable with having to retell what she had witnessed.

She had been so shocked to find them together, so she had tried to avert her eyes as best as she could. She was not as innocent as her age might let someone to believe, and she knew quite well what men and women did together. Her vivid imagination made up for what she had not seen in Joséphine's rooms.

Clara tried not to show her disappointment at this news. Even though Joséphine had assured her that she and Erik had consummated their marriage, she had not believed her until now. She could not imagine that anyone would be willing to be intimate with this dark, disfigured man.

Ever since her husband had withdrawn his affections because of her inability to conceive, she had despised Joséphine for the attentions she got from Stanislas. When she had presented Erik as her husband right before the end of the ultimatum, her disdain had turned to hatred, because now the fortune she had counted on had been taken from her as well.

To have proof that their marriage was more than a business arrangement as she had assumed, fuelled her anger and hatred even more.

"Out! Now! Go do your duties!" Clara said, straining to suppress yelling at the maid. Fanny left immediately, just taking the time to curtsy once more before she was out of the room. She had just closed the door behind her, when a teacup shattered at the wall next to it.

Clara was seething with anger. First, she been deprived of her husband, and since they had no proof of his demise, she could not with clear conscience take a lover. She also still had feelings for her husband.

After a while, her sole comfort had been getting the money, and making the life of her stepdaughter miserable. Now she had also been deprived of the money and seeing Joséphine, apparently happily married despite the beginnings of their arrangement, was more than she could bear.

The plate followed the teacup, the sounds of shattering porcelain echoing through the room. Clara slumped back against the pillows, tears of anger and frustration running down her face. Finally, after a few minutes had passed, she had calmed down enough to consider the current situation.

Looking at the mess she had made, she made a decision. She had neither reason nor proof to legally fight the marriage and therefore had to think of others ways to get back at them. Erik had warned her of doing Joséphine any harm, but she was too far-gone to care.

Getting up, she went to her dressing table and sat down in front of the mirror. Looking in it pensively, she started applying her make-up to get ready for the day, while at the same time agonising over how to get rid of her stepdaughter.

Grabbing a small pot from the right side of her vanity, she halted in midstride. It contained a blend of vinegar, chalk and arsenic, which upper class women used to improve their complexion. It had a whitening effect to the skin, serving to distinguish themselves further from the other classes.

Arsenic was also highly poisonous, and regularly Clara had heard that women had died after taking to many arsenic complexion pills. She only used the powder from time to time to enhance her pale features. Even though she was not of noble blood and had helped out her parents in the bakery when she was younger, life had graced her with a pale complexion worthy of any woman from aristocracy. But today, after her fit of rage just minutes earlier, her cheeks were botchy and red.

The powder contained not enough arsenic to do any real harm, and she was sure that, given their strained relationship at the moment, her stepdaughter would refuse any pills she offered her.

But there had to be way, or a different poison to get rid of Joséphine and her monster of a husband.

Suddenly, inspiration struck, and Clara's eyes took on a strange gleam. She knew where to get what she wanted. And, yes, she would poison her stepdaughter, and take back what she felt was rightfully hers.


	28. Talks and Music

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Thanks Luthien for your help!_

**TALKS AND MUSIC**

Joséphine spent the morning in her rooms, brooding over the previous events. The way their night together had turned out, she was glad she had not confessed her feelings to Erik. He still seemed to be too attached to this singer to even consider a relationship with her that progressed further than a few amicable conversations and a few heated kisses and caresses.

That morning, she had been willing to throw her promise not to engage him further until he committed himself fully to her in the wind, her desire for him taking over. Being in his arms, feeling his body so close to hers had been the most exhilarating experience she had ever had, and the sudden ending hurt her more than she was willing to admit.

Finally, at around eleven, she was unwilling to dwell on it any further for the moment, rose and dressed herself, then walked to the servants' quarters to check up on Mathilde.

Knocking gently on Mathilde's door, she entered after hearing her friend's permission.

Mathilde lay in her bed in the room she shared with one of the cooks, her body propped up on pillows. She still looked pale and exhausted, and Joséphine felt a stab of guilt that her friend had to suffer because of her.

"How are you faring?" Joséphine asked, taking a chair from the corner to sit by the bed.

"Better than yesterday. Clementine's stomach-calming soups make me want to be getting better as soon as possible. I know she makes them to help me, but I swear if I have to take another spoonful of that awful broth I'll throw the bowl at her," Mathilde explained, her voice still a bit hoarse from sickness.

It was Clementine that had overseen the servant's dinner preparation the night before Mathilde had fallen ill and she felt somewhat guilty that her roommate had suffered a food poisoning. But the head cook, Madame Rousseau had reassured her that nothing had been wrong with the food, or others would have fallen ill as well.

Joséphine had to smile at the outburst; Clementine was a wonderful cook, and for Mathilde to refuse something she had made it really had to taste horrendous.

"She's only trying to help you."

"I know," Mathilde replied, "still, I don't have to like my diet."

"Mathilde, I…" taking her friend's hand, Joséphine pondered about how best to tell her the cause of her illness.

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed by everything that had happened in the last days, Joséphine broke down in tears.

"This is all my fault," she choked out.

"What are you talking about?" Mathilde asked, confused.

"You being sick," Joséphine explained. Mathilde looked at her, clearly puzzled, but sat up straighter to listen to her friend. "Clara is responsible for your food poisoning; she wanted to replace you to get more information on me and Erik."

Mathilde's eyes widened. "You can't be serious," she said, nodding her head, but the look in her friend's eyes told her otherwise. "Oh my God!"

"The girl that replaced you, she was supposed to find out if I was already pregnant." She paused for a moment, pondering if she should tell her friend that Erik and she had not yet consummated their marriage, but then thought it too risky; she could not dare being overheard.

"Are you?" Mathilde intercepted her.

"No," Joséphine replied, a sly smile on her face. "But that morning, she caught us still in bed and Erik threw her out. It was a quite awkward situation." Taking a deep breath, she carried on. "Erik thinks that Clara is up to something, and that you were just the first pawn in her game."

"But what could she do? She cannot possibly think of doing you any harm?" Mathilde asked, concerned.

"I don't think so," Joséphine replied. "But you know how she is with manipulating people. What if she somehow manages to break Erik and me apart?"

"I can't imagine how," Mathilde said.

"Well, after Fanny surprised us this morning, we had a fight about the one big issue standing between us."

"His scars?" Mathilde asked, remembering what Joséphine had told her one day.

Joséphine nodded, remembering in time that she had never told her friend about Christine, only about the troubles he had because of his disfigurement.

"Apparently he needs more time still to realise what he has with you. But I am sure that everything will work out." She squeezed her friend's hand, comforting her. "And not even a vile serpent such as Clara will be able to move you apart."

Joséphine had to smile at the passionate declaration. "Thank you so much Mathilde, that reassurance was what I needed." She bent down to embrace her. "I am so glad we became friends."

"It is definitely better than having an employer one does not like," Mathilde replied, smirking.

"Oh you..."

* * *

Very much like his wife, Erik had spent the morning thinking of their current situation. He felt remorse for having denied his wife, the one woman who so clearly wanted him, but he could not undo what had transpired.

He had hurt her more than he had thought he would by rejecting her this morning. But still, he felt it was the right thing to do. So much had changed since the night of 'Don Juan Triumphant', and he simply had to be sure he would not return to his old ways as soon as he set eyes on Christine again. But if his feelings for his former pupil did indeed return full force, Joséphine would be far better off if they had never experienced that kind of intimacy together.

At least that was what he told himself over and over again.

Deciding that music would help him, he went down and sat on the piano and began to play. Notes turned into melodies, soothing him, and soon all but the music surrounding him was tuned out while he let all his feelings pour down through his hands.

The melody started slowly, with a tinge of sadness to it. It was a variation of 'The Point Of No Return', something he had written what felt like a lifetime ago now. Soon though, it developed into a different tune, his fingers starting to fly over the keys. Before he knew it, words joined the music.

_I lived my life in shadow  
Never the sun on my face.  
It didn't seem so sad, though  
I figured that was my place.  
Now I'm bathed in light  
Something just isn't right.  
_

_Joséphine, I'll send you all my love,  
And every step I'll take now  
I'll take for you,  
My Joséphine._

_A life without meaning  
I was walking away,  
In the coldest of winters  
Night becomes a day._

_One love lost,  
Another has grown._

_Joséphine, I'll send you all my love,  
And every single step that I'll take now  
I'll take for you,  
My Joséphine._

_You saw the man,  
Not the mask  
And that's more  
Than I could ever ask._

_Joséphine, I'll send you all my love,  
And every single step that I'll take now  
I'll take for you,  
My Joséphine, I'll send you all my love.*  
_

Erik continued repeating the melody, humming along with it, and now and then singing the words.

* * *

Outside of the music room, whose door was left slightly ajar, stood Joséphine, tears streaking down her face. She had never heard him sing before, and she could not remember ever having heard a voice such as his. And hearing her name come from his lips when he sang…it was wonderful.

In her hand she clutched a piece of paper, an invitation sent out by the Chagnys who had returned prematurely from their honeymoon and were to hold a ball at their estate Saturday this weekend.

When she had read the note, she was still mad at him for abandoning her this morning, and for a while she had contemplated keeping it from him, but hearing him sing had changed her mind.

She knew that the confrontation had to come sooner or later, and she knew it made no sense to draw it out any longer now. They would go to the ball and either return home together, or it would be the last time she saw the man she had come to know and fallen in love with. The decision was his alone.

She sincerely hoped he would choose her.

Stilling her trembling hands, she rapped shortly on the door and strode in to tell him.

_* __A/N: The song is a mixture of 'I'm Under Your Spell' from Buffy's 'Once More With Feeling' Episode, 'Josephine' by Chris Rea and my own imagination. Critics (good or bad) welcome._


	29. The Invitation

I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Thanks this time not only to Luthien _Saralonde, but also to Green6Eyed7Lady for going over my chapter._

**THE INVITATION**

The music stopped abruptly as soon as Erik heard the knock on the door. Embarrassed at probably having been overheard, he turned to face whoever interrupted him. Seeing his wife, he hoped she had not heard too much of his song. Upon second glance, he noticed that she seemed troubled, nervously clutching a piece of paper in her right hand.

Avoiding his eyes, Joséphine handed him the invitation without uttering a word, then leaned on the piano, waiting anxiously for his reaction.

Slowly, Erik opened the card, his eyes flying over the text.

_To Marquise Clara d'Escayrac, and Mademoiselle Joséphine d'Escayrac :_

_Vicomte and Vicomtesse  
Raoul and Christine de Chagny  
desire the pleasure of your company  
at a ball this Saturday at the Chagny Estate  
to celebrate their newly formed bond.  
_

_Please bring this invitation with you._

His thoughts started racing.

'She's back sooner than expected. I'll see her again, and then I will decide what, or rather, whom I want.'

A smile spread across his lips, thinking of seeing his pupil once again after all this time. He did not notice how Joséphine's face fell as the smile appeared on his own.

Tears started streaming down her face, and Joséphine had the feeling to have lost him as soon as he had read the invitation. She regretted having given it to him so soon.

When Erik finally looked up, the smile was instantly whipped from his face and replaced by concern, as soon as he saw the tears on his wife's face. He stood, closed the distance and took her in his arms. She tried to pull back, but he did not give in. Tilting up her chin with his fingers, he forced her to look at him.

"You don't want to go?" It was less a question than an observation.

"I know that you want to, and that is what matters," Joséphine answered. "After all, it's your chance to meet her again and to convince her that you are…" her voice broke, but she continued. "…the right man for her."

Her heart broke at the thought of loosing him in only five days, but she fought back the new tears that threatened to spill, not wanting to show him how much she hated this predicament.

Unconsciously, his hands had begun stroking her back, comforting her. Erik looked at her, and he could clearly see the desperation she felt in her eyes. Besides her slip, she had not told him that she loved him, but Erik felt that she did. And still, she was willing to let him go, let him go after another woman should he so choose.

It was the complete opposite to what he had done in the disastrous triangle between him, Christine, and Raoul.

He told her once that he did not deem himself worthy of love, and yet, he had gained her love over the time they had spent as husband and wife. When he was with Christine, he had never felt like when he was with Joséphine, and a small voice in his head told him that he had already fallen in love with his wife.

'Problem is I am no longer sure if she would be the right one for me.'

The confession lay on the tip of his tongue, but he could not bring himself to say it. He simply needed to see Christine one more time before he admitted his feelings.

"I want to go," Erik finally said, "but I need you by my side. Otherwise I…"

"You are not going to threaten her again, won't you Erik?" she asked him, her tone daring him not to give the wrong answer to this.

"Of course not," he said immediately, reassuring her. That particular thought had indeed never crossed his mind. "But the invitation is addressed to you…"

"…and Clara," Joséphine added, making a face, which made Erik smile.

"To the ladies of this house. I could not possibly show up alone, or, heaven forbid, together with your stepmother." It was now Joséphine's turn to smile at the look on Erik's face.

"Besides, even with the mask and wig I wear now, I cannot be sure that Chagny won't call the police once he knows who I am."

"Then I'll distract him, lead him away, so you can talk to Christine," Joséphine stated, crushing the pain she felt at the thought of actively helping him leaving her.

"And if, in spite of it all, I am to be exposed?" he whispered.

Joséphine looked at him for a moment, taking in his face. She did not know how he had looked with the white mask he wore as the Phantom, but she was pretty sure that most people would not make the connection. His new mask melted almost perfectly with his features, and the colour was the same as that of his skin.

"Well, we tell them that they are wrong, and that they should refrain from such hollow accusations."

"Fact is, they aren't hollow," Erik chided in.

Joséphine broke away from him, giving him a stern look.

"You are not the Phantom," she told him, "well, not any more," she added in a gentler tone.

"You are a well-known architect, married to the daughter of a Marquis. Remember that even the Comtesse de Montferrand said that you had nothing but the mask in common with the Phantom?"

"I do."

"Even if someone should investigate, we have a priest and the owners of a tavern to confirm that you spent the night with me. I don't think each one of them will remember the exact time we showed up."

"You don't think someone might find it suspicious that we got married at the same night of the catastrophe at the opera?

"Clara won't let anyone know that I was imprisoned rather than sick in the last year, she's too afraid of the scandal it would cause. We got married as soon as I felt well enough, secretly, because my stepmother disapproved of it." Her lips turned into a conspiratorial smile. "How were we to know what happened elsewhere that night?"

More than once, Joséphine had surprised him with her cunning, and the ease with which necessary lies spilled from her lips did not cease to amaze him. He wanted to believe her, believe that they had an out for every possible turnout of events, but the unease at the thought of Raoul discovering who he was did not leave. Still, he gave her a reassuring nod.

"Let us pray it will not come to this. Maybe everything will turn out fine," Erik said, though not really convinced. Needing to feel her right now, he reached for her and held her in a close embrace. Joséphine obliged willingly, seeking to be as close to him as possible for as long as she could.

Finally, he let go of her, but held her at arm's length, looking her up and down.

"So, what enthralling robe are you going to wear this time?"

* * *

At dinner that evening, Clara had no other topic than the upcoming ball; the people she thought might be present and the couple hosting it. Erik and Joséphine sat through most of it silently, since Clara was very comfortable leading the conversation all on her own, and only nodded here and there.

At dessert, Clara addressed Joséphine. "Have you already spoken to your seamstress about a gown?"

Joséphine nodded, swallowing the spoonful of mousse au chocolat she had just eaten. "Yes, I went there this afternoon. Actually, I expected to see you there as well."

The smug smile on Clara's face made it clear that she had something 'important' to declare. "I had the fortune to get an appointment with Richard Noirbon. He's going to personally make my dress until Saturday."

Joséphine's eyes widened, and she had to suppress a laugh. Noirbon, or Blackwell rather, was an English couturier that had come to France at the same time as Charles Frederick Worth.

But whereas Worth's creations had taken all of Europe's upper class by storm due to their beauty and congeniality, those of Noirbon only were talked about because people could not decide if he was just ahead of times with his fashion or if he simply had no fashion sense at all, besides thinking that what was expensive had to be good.

"Really? Did you?" Joséphine remarked, struggling to suppress a laugh. Erik cast her a sideways glance, not really understanding her sudden mirth.

"Yes, it will be wonderful," Clara said enthusiastically. "They showed me all these new fabrics, and I chose a wonderful bright rose at first, but the Maitre convinced me to go for magenta. It would be far more stylish and eye-catching, he said."

"I am sure it will be very," Joséphine paused, searching for the right word, "unique." She tried hard not to grin.

Clara continued the conversation around various fashion trends. Erik soon noticed that Joséphine had to stifle a yawn. Apparently, fashion was not her favourite topic.

And so, when Clara asked if they cared for drink after dessert, for once not seeming to mind her family's company, he was ready to decline and put his wife to rest, but Joséphine accepted the proffered Crème de Cassis. Erik, not wanting to leave his wife alone with her distrustful stepmother, stayed and opted for brandy, like Clara.

When Clara, at Joséphine's question why she did not drink a Cassis as well, as she did usually, explained that she needed something to calm her down and stronger alcohol would be much better for that, he thought nothing of it.


	30. Preparations for the Ball

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Thanks this time to Green6Eyed7Lady for going over my chapter!_

**PREPARATIONS FOR THE BALL**

The next days up until Saturday were filled out almost solely by the preparations for the big ball at the Chagnys.

Clara was out of the house most of the day, almost as often to consult her dressmaker as to have tea with friends, gossiping.

Joséphine too was stressed to get her dress ready in time; she spent nearly every afternoon at her seamstress to finish her robe.

Erik, after the dinner with Clara on Monday evening, had mysteriously disappeared and only resurfaced the next evening for dinner. Since the couple shared their meal with Clara, who was in an exceptional good mood ever since she had received the invitation, Joséphine did not get a chance to ask him about his whereabouts.

She found the time when they went upstairs together after dessert, while Clara returned to her sewing room. Joséphine had refused a night cup in the winter garden because she was feeling a bit unwell.

"Where have you disappeared to last night?" Joséphine finally asked him when they had arrived at the upper level. "I waited up for you, but you didn't return."

"You shouldn't have," Erik replied.

"I was worried, where were you?" Joséphine pried further.

"It is of no importance."

Joséphine halted, suddenly suspicious, an unpleasant thought coming to her mind. She reached for his arm.

"It is for me. Please tell me," she all but whispered.

Erik had turned to face her, but did not look her in the eyes.

"At the Chagny Estate," he finally admitted.

For a moment, Erik had pondered on lying to his wife, saying that he had gone to see Nadir, but he was almost certain she would have discovered a lie, since she was watching him so closely.

Wordlessly, Joséphine left him in the corridor, closing her door forcefully behind her.

"You insisted on knowing," Erik said to himself defiantly, striding towards his chambers. But instead of opening his door, he continued to his wife's rooms.

Quietly, he opened the door, glad that she had not locked it. Joséphine was sitting on her bed, a pillow in her arms that she clenched so tightly her knuckles were white.

Slowly he approached her, but stopped when she raised her head to look at him.

"So this is it then? Hiding in the shadows again to spy on her? That's the ways of the Phantom, it should no longer be yours," she said reproachfully.

"Joséphine…"

She raised her hand to stop him. "Don't you remember what I once told you? That it was maybe your actions that made her recoil from you and not your appearance?"

Agitated, she ran her hands through her hair. "Stalking her is definitely not what you should do to win her, Erik."

Erik opened his mouth to speak, wanting to tell her that he had just had to get away last night, to sort out his feelings. He had not immediately gone to the Chagny estate, had not even thought about going there when he had left the house.

He had simply wanted to sort out his inner turmoil. Erik had to admit that he was afraid of seeing Christine again. He still could not be sure that she or the Vicomte would not instantly alert the police and have him arrested.

And he was also aware of the hurt he would cause Joséphine should he leave her for Christine. He knew that that had been their initial arrangement, but since that night so many things had changed.

He had wandered the streets of Paris for hours, his flesh-coloured mask nearly invisible in the dim light of the streetlamps. When he had bumped into somebody, too occupied with his thoughts to pay attention on everything around him, he was startled to acknowledge that he was no longer seen as an outcast, for the young woman he had collided with did not immediately run from him screaming, but excused herself politely and then continued her ways. If it had not been for Joséphine, he would still live his life on the edges of society, never belonging anywhere but the shadows.

Since he had met Joséphine and had donned a more unobtrusive mask, he had been to dinners with high society, and been personally involved with his architectural projects more than ever before. He felt comfortable around Joséphine, which ultimately had led to him being more at ease around others as well.

In all these years that he had been in Paris, he had only seldom dared to walk around in broad daylight, but he had been out with Joséphine on various occasions. She had helped him change his life for the better; with the ultimate goal of showing Christine what man he could be, so that she would leave the Vicomte to be with her former tutor.

She was right, he should not have gone there last night, but after hours of strolling around aimlessly, he found himself in front of the gates of the Chagny Estate. But unlike a few weeks ago, he had not entered the premises, but had walked along the fence, his thoughts not only with the woman safe behind them, but also with the woman he had left at home.

"Home."

"I am sorry, what did you just say?" Erik heard Joséphine say and had the feeling as if he had just returned from a place far away.

"I…nothing. I am sorry, Joséphine for putting you through all this, believe me," he finally managed to say. Again he stepped forward to get closer.

"Well, I admit that it's only logical to seek the closeness of the woman you love, just not how you did it. Fortunately, all this will be over soon," Joséphine told him, but he knew she was only playing brave, he could see that she had tightened her grip on the pillow again.

"I am tired, I will go to bed. Good night, Erik," she added.

"Do you want me to stay?" he inquired, secretly hoping that she would.

"No, I rather not, I'm not feeling well," Joséphine explained.

Erik turned towards the connecting door. "Well, good night then, Joséphine."

"Good night."

* * *

Erik did not sleep for a long time, still thinking of what was to come. It was long past midnight, when he heard noises coming from the next room. Getting up, he walked to the connecting door, not caring to put his mask on, to listen. There it was again, a low groan. Silently, he opened the door and peeked inside.

Joséphine was tossing and turning in her bed, clearly having a nightmare. Quickly, he walked over to the bed, intent on waking her. But then she spoke up.

"Please don't. Don't go!"

Could it be…?

"Stay, please, I love you!"

She was having a nightmare about losing him. And, even though she was not conscious, she had just admitted she loved him. He had been sure that she did, but to hear it from her mouth, even asleep, shook him to his core.

He verified that the door to the corridor was locked, and lay down next to her in bed, stroking her back, trying to calm her. Unexpectedly, Joséphine turned around and buried her face in his chest. He could feel the tears on her face as she snuggled closer. Laying an arm around her, he quietly started singing a lullaby, soothing her with his voice.

After a few minutes, Joséphine had calmed back down, nestling down beside him, her head resting on his chest, her breathing in time with the beating of his heart.

It did not take long for Erik to fall asleep as well.

* * *

Erik had left early in the morning, so when Joséphine woke up, she was unaware of his late night visit.

Still feeling unwell, she was in no mood to get up soon. Her head hurt, and her limbs where feeling heavy. Thinking that it might be a combination of a cold and the emotional distress she was in as the ball drew closer, she discarded the symptoms and finally got out of bed. There was still so much to do before Saturday.

Both women spent hours in the afternoon at their seamstresses, while Erik was asked by Victor Parmentier to solve a problem at the site of the Hotel de Carnavalet. Parmentier also informed him that the committee Haussmann had set in charge of the restructuring of the city was very interested in other designs he, respectively Erik, had to offer. Erik promised him to present him some ideas the next week.

Erik arrived late for dinner, so when he entered the dining room, the ladies had just been served the main dish. Bending down to kiss his wife, he acknowledged Clara with a nod, and sat down.

"The Haussmann committee is interested in my work, they want me and my partner to present them some designs as soon as possible," Erik told his wife, proud of his work.

"That is amazing, Erik!" Joséphine exclaimed. "I'm so proud of you!" She reached over to squeeze his hand.

Erik cast a look at Clara, whose face was set in stone, but he didn't care today, he was in an exceptional good mood, and nothing could deter him from it.

Joséphine was genuinely enthusiastic about this, and so the conversation during the main course was mainly about Baron Haussmann's project. When the table was cleared, Erik noticed that Joséphine had left her dish nearly untouched.

Since normally she had a healthy appetite, he assumed she might not have liked today's meal. But when she merely touched the lemon cake, which he knew was one of her favourites; he assumed that she was still feeling unwell.

Clara had noticed as well and of course commented on it. "I always thought you liked lemon tarts, Joséphine? Is this one not to your liking?"

"It is fine," Joséphine answered, finally putting the fork aside, instead of parting the piece of cake into even smaller crumbles. "I simply have no appetite today, I must be under the weather, that's all." She didn't tell them that she was almost unable to keep her food down, having vomited for about an hour after today's lunch.

"I hope so, my dear. It would be a shame if you were unable to go to the ball."

"Believe me, it is nothing. Besides, a cold won't keep me away from the event of the season," Joséphine replied sternly.

"If you say so, I hope you are right," Clara meant, and Erik felt suddenly odd. For a moment, there had been a strange glint in her eyes, and Erik could not shake the feeling that Clara was up to something. Was she planning on compromising Joséphine at the ball? He vowed to watch her even more closely.

* * *

The next day, after going over some blueprints he was considering giving to Parmentier, Erik went to the Rue de Rivoli to see Nadir. He was not sure if his old friend could help him with his dilemma, but he needed someone to talk to, to confide in. So he had sent a letter letting him know that he would stop by in the early afternoon.

The Daroga, this time clad in comfortable oriental clothes, as he had spent the whole day at home, received Erik with fresh brewed green tea with pinions and pastries. They made themselves comfortable in the living room, and Erik started telling Nadir about Christine's return.

"And now they are giving a ball, and Joséphine, her stepmother and I are invited," Erik concluded.

"And you intent to go?" Nadir asked him.

"Yes, I need to."

"You need to? Why, Erik?" Nadir demanded suspiciously.

"I told you that in the beginning, the alliance between Joséphine and I was a marriage of convenience," he began. Nadir nodded.

"Over the time we spent together, things have changed. She makes me…I am no longer…" Erik searched for words, "I need to go to the ball to be sure that I no longer have feelings for Christine," he finally confessed.

"You seek closure, my friend, I understand," Nadir said. "But are you not afraid of being recognized and caught?"

"Of course I am." Erik gestured toward his mask. "I may be able to fool the people on the streets, and other members of the upper class, but I am sure Christine will recognise me. I know also that Joséphine is willing to lie for me, to tell everyone they are wrong should someone accost me. She can be very convincing," Erik answered with a smile.

"What I am more concerned of is my behaviour towards Christine. I simply do not know how to approach her. And what happens if I…turn into a madman again the moment I set my eyes on her?"

Nadir looked at him. "Do you really believe that will happen, Erik?"

"I don't know. For years, she was all that I could think about, but when I went to her home last night…"

"You did what?" Nadir exclaimed, shocked.

Erik had the decency to look ashamed. "Let me finish. I went to the Chagny Estate last night, but all I could think about was Joséphine. She loves me, you know?"

"Did she tell you?"

"Not consciously, but I know she does."

"And you are still willing to let her go through the pain of thinking she will loose you come Saturday?" the Persian asked him somewhat reproachfully.

Erik rose from the fauteuil, walking over to the window to look out on the street. "I think she's giving me the right to choose that I once denied Christine," he said after a while.

"If what you say is true, she must love you very much, putting your luck before her own. She really is an exceptional woman," Nadir said, having joined Erik at the window.

"Yes, she is."

* * *

Thursday, Joséphine was still not feeling better, if possible, she felt even worse. She even cancelled her meeting with the seamstress, thinking that the last fitting the next day would suffice.

Mathilde meanwhile had recovered enough to be able to leave her room again, if not enough to return to work, and so kept Joséphine company most of the day.

When Erik returned from work only shortly before dinner, one of the servants informed him that Clara would dine out with friends that evening, and that Joséphine had ordered her dinner to be brought to her room. At being asked if he was going to take his dinner downstairs or in his quarters, he chose to dine with Joséphine.

He waited in the dining room until the dinner was ready, then took it upon himself to bring it upstairs. Balancing the tablet with the dishes in one hand, he gently knocked on his wife's door with the other.

"Come in," he heard Joséphine say.

Opening the door, he found not only his wife, but also her servant Mathilde lying leisurely on the bed, playing cards. Mathilde nearly bolted from the bed, almost falling over, curtsying hastily when she recognised her Mistress' husband entering. Joséphine had to smile, but hid it behind the cards she held in her right hand.

"I am glad to see that you are feeling better, Mathilde," Erik addressed her, a small smile having appeared on his lips due to the maids rash movements.

"Thank you Master," Mathilde replied, curtsying again.

"Come finish the game, Mathilde, and I don't think Erik will mind much if you behave less like a servant and more than a friend," Joséphine told her friend, reaching out to get her to sit back down on the bed.

Mathilde turned to look at her friend, her face doubtful.

"If I had known you were here, I would have brought more food, or can you still eat nothing but the cook's broth?" Erik asked her gently.

Mathilde whirled around again. "That broth is awful!" she exclaimed, shivering by the thought of it.

"Then do you want me to get more food?"

Incredulously, Mathilde stared at him. "You would serve me? But…you are the Master of this house!"

Joséphine had fallen back on the bed, nearly doubling over with mirth. "Stop teasing her Erik! Besides, I am sure there will be enough for all of us, I am still not feeling very hungry."

Erik immediately turned his attention to her, looking her over concerned. "You still don't feel better?"

Joséphine shook her head. "Not really, but it will pass. I guess I'm just not used to be out that much again after a year in this house," she explained, leaving out that she also thought stress and nervousness because of the impending ball to be under the reasons for her illness.

"Are you sure you don't want to call a doctor?" Erik probed further.

"Yes, I assure you, it is nothing you should concern yourself with," his wife replied, though Mathilde had the feeling that her lady was unconvinced by what she had just said.

"Now, what delicacies have you brought us for dinner?"


	31. The Ball Part 1

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._  
_A/N: Christine will look like in the musical, and be nearly as young as in the film. I'm just so used to this description I have trouble imagining her otherwise._

**THE BALL PART 1**

Finally, the day of the ball had arrived. Everyone in Paris' upper class was talking about the big event. Since Raoul de Chagny had married his wife in a small ceremony before departing for their honeymoon, this was the first time that Christine was to be introduced into society as the new Vicomtesse.

People were curious to meet the woman who had conquered the heart of one of the most wanted bachelors in town and risen from dancer and singer in the opera to a member of aristocracy. Rumours made their way throughout the town, some farfetched, some close to the truth.

The disastrous obsession that the infamous opera ghost had had for the girl was mentioned only in some of the stories that were spread. The Phantom that only few had seen had simply become part of the urban legends of Paris.

Still, Erik was glad that he would not be alone when he saw Christine again. Since it was big event, where more than 100 people had been invited, a doorman would announce their arrivals and he, Joséphine and Clara would make their way together to greet the hosts and offer them their congratulations for their marriage.

Out of practicality, all three of them were going to share a carriage. Clara was not officially widowed yet and therefore unable to go in the company of a man other than a member of her family without raising rumours of having an affair. But since her brother had disappeared in Africa along with her husband, she was forced to go with her stepdaughter and son in law.

Saturday morning, Joséphine felt so sick that she had trouble getting up, nearly fainting when she tried to rise from the bed. But she quelled her unease down, telling herself that after the ball she would have enough time to wallow in pity, when Erik had left for good.

During the morning, the ladies' dresses arrived, and they spent the better part of the afternoon getting ready for the evening.

Since Erik was aware of Joséphine's choice of robes, he had paid special attention when choosing his wardrobe, and wore a dark blue vest, embroidered in a black and silver floral pattern, under his customary black suit.

He had also taken great care at rendering his mask as unobtrusive as possible. Ever since he had learned of the invitation, he had tried to find a colour that resembled even more his skin tone than the one before. Last night, he had finally applied the new layer to his mask, imitating the contours of his unblemished side by using a darker shade where necessary.

His disfigurement safely hidden behind mask and wig, he waited for the ladies downstairs.

Clara was the first one to arrive, and now Erik understood why his wife had almost burst into giggles when her stepmother had bragged about her robe. Her magenta dress had an enormous bustle, and was overloaded with silk frills in pale rose and reddish brown. Her deep décolleté was adorned with a ruby collier. When she came down the stairs, he thought that she would faint any minute her corset was bound so tightly.

Clara arrived in front of him, waiting for his comment, looking him up and down at the same time. Being polite, he raised her gloved hand to kiss her.

"I must say that I now understand the reputation your dressmaker has. This dress really is unique," he managed to say without breaking into a laugh, merely smiling slightly.

Clara of course was flattered by the 'compliment' and graced Erik with a rare smile. She then turned her head back to the stairs; for Joséphine had appeared on the upper level, slowly coming down to join the others.

Erik held his breath. He knew what colour her dress would be, and he had never seen his wife more beautiful. She wore a midnight blue dress made of finest silk, her medium sized bustle and décolleté were accentuated with black and silver Belgian lace. The deep blue of her robe let her auburn hair shimmer in a deeper red than usual, and her green eyes were like a stormy ocean. But still, something was missing.

Erik held out his hand for her when she arrived on the last step, and she gratefully took it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Clara watching them suspiciously, but everything that counted at the moment was the woman in front of him. He reached into the outer pocket of his jacket and conjured a black velvet box.

"You already are stunning," he whispered, "but with this, Joséphine, you will be perfect."

Joséphine opened the box with trembling hands, a small "Oh" escaping her lips when she saw what was inside. Her eyes darted from the box to Erik and back again, completely at a loss for words.

"Here, let me help you," Erik offered, taking the jewellery out. It was a white gold collier with four tear shaped amethysts surrounding a heart shaped sapphire. Each stone was adorned with three diamonds where it was linked with the chain. It was the most beautiful piece of jewellery Joséphine had ever seen, and it fit perfectly with her dress.

"This is beautiful," said Clara, who had come closer, curious about the content of the box.

"Yes, perfect," Erik said, looking Joséphine directly in the eyes, which had taken on a strange glint he could not really decipher. She seemed overwhelmed, but somehow sad as well.

'Well, she loves you, and she is sure you are going to leave her tonight for Christine, how would you feel?' an inner voice chided him. He felt guilty for putting her through this, so he vowed himself to make it up to her big time when this evening was over.

Joséphine turned, so that Erik could fasten the collier around her neck. When he was finished, she lightly touched the necklace with her fingertips, and looked at Erik again.

"Thank you," she whispered, then took his proffered hand and led him lead her to the carriage that already awaited them outside. Clara followed, her face stern.

She had hoped that Joséphine would not be able to go to the ball, but apparently the dose of arsenic she had mixed into the cassis on Monday had not been enough. Still, she could not help but notice with utter contempt that the poisoning was already showing some effect. Joséphine appeared pale, and seemed to constantly have trouble breathing. Clutching her reticule, where a small bottle containing a solution of the poison was safely hidden, she hoped to have a possibility at the ball to give Joséphine another dose.

* * *

The ride in the carriage passed in silence, each of the occupants in their own thoughts. After about 20 minutes, the carriage pulled through the gates of the Chagny Estate, situated at the northern outskirts of Paris. Curious, Joséphine looked out the window, taking in the park, lit with dozens of torches, and the big mansion ahead of them.

Clara was impressed too, jealousy flaring up in her though. Her husband, the Marquis, surely was rich, but they did not possess an estate such as this. It irked her that she, through marriage of higher social rank than the Vicomte, was not able to live that luxurious.

The carriage halted in front of the entrance, one of the liveried servants that awaited the guests' arrivals on the doorsteps hoping down to open the doors, offering a hand to help the ladies out. Once outside, Joséphine took Erik's arm again, and together they climbed the steps to the open door.

They walked through the entrance hall and a big corridor, which was adorned with portraits of the Chagny ancestors, towards the big doors of the ballroom in the back of the mansion, where they could already hear the music and the chatter of the crowd.

They waited until it was their turn to give the doorman their invitation, so he could announce their arrival, also telling him Erik's name. So when they stepped into the ballroom, they could hear his voice loud and clear behind them.

"Madame la Marquise Clara d'Escayrac de Lauture, and her daughter and son in law, Joséphine and Erik Perrault," his voice sounded through the room, and the nearest guests turned to eye the new arrivals, before returning to their conversations.

Erik's eyes immediately darted through the room, searching for Christine. He found her at the other end, together with her husband. She still was beautiful, wearing a moss coloured evening gown with golden applications. Her hair, as it was custom for women of the upper class, now was tied up in an elegant bun, only a few strands falling freely around her face. She seemed so elegant and at ease with her surroundings that Erik had trouble recognizing in her the little girl he had tutored so long ago.

It hurt him that she was willing to throw away her talent for a life in luxury. But she seemed happy; he could not help but notice.

Joséphine had followed Erik's glance and almost instantly felt jealousy rearing its ugly head. Christine de Chagny really was beautiful, but she had never thought her to be so young. She was still a girl, and the man at her side, who looked at her adoringly every few minutes, couldn't be much older than his wife.

She felt Erik tighten up next to her, and patted is hand in automatic attempt to calm him. 'I am a fool,' she chided herself instantly, 'for letting him break my heart and still console him.'

Erik turned his head to look at her, impressed by her supporting behaviour even though he was sure she hurt inside. Another bang of guilt exploded in his chest, and he spontaneously bent down to kiss her. Joséphine's knees almost gave way.

'Does he have to torture me even more by showing me affection one last time?' she thought desperately.

A clearing of the throat to her left made Erik stop and look up. His eyes immediately began to harden and narrow with deadly intent. Gilles Becault had just greeted Clara and now waited for them to acknowledge him. To his dismay, Joséphine nearly threw herself at the man.

"Gilles, it is a pleasure to meet you again," she said smiling, offering her hand.

Gilles bent down to kiss her hand, at the same time casting a glance towards Erik. When he rose again, he extended his hand to Erik, which he shook reluctantly.

"You look as beautiful as always, my dear Joséphine. Monsieur Perrault, how do you do?"

Erik's response wasn't much more than a grunt. He was not in the mood to talk to this person; honestly, he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone but Joséphine and Christine.

Gilles ignored Erik and continued making small talk with Joséphine. "My sister was already looking for you. Apparently, there is much gossip to spread tonight." Both Clara and Joséphine smiled at that, of course interested in the latest news. "Have you already met the newly-weds?"

"We just arrived and were on our way to them when you stopped us, Monsieur Becault," Erik replied dryly.

Gilles raised an eyebrow, slightly put out by Erik's icy behaviour. But then he remembered their last encounter and the improper questions he had bombarded Joséphine's husband with. Apprehensive, he made a step back. "Of course. I hope the ladies will save me a dance later that evening?" When they nodded, he turned and walked away.

Clara, who of course had noticed the tension between the two men, took the opportunity for a sneering remark. "You must know that Gilles and Joséphine were very close once. There even was talk of an impending marriage. If it had not been for the contract, she would not have had to take such a poor copy of a gentleman like you are for a husband."

"Clara!" Joséphine exclaimed, scandalised, her eyes immediately darting around, seeing if they had been overheard.

Erik's anger flared up instantly, his eyes blazing, but he showed no other outward sign. "If it had not been for you, she would have had more possibilities to choose from," he replied scathingly. He looked her up and down.

"But to be honest, I have to thank you, Clara." When Clara looked at him questioningly, not understanding, he continued. "If it had not been for your schemes, this wonderful woman would have never crossed my path."

Clara paled, then left them standing, continuing her way towards the Chagnys. Joséphine had to smile, even though she instantly chided Erik for talking about things like that in public. Then they followed Clara to greet Raoul and Christine.

When they arrived at the other end of the ballroom, Clara was still with them, so Joséphine stepped forward, joining their conversation.

"This reception is fantastic, Monsieur le Vicomte," she said in a light tone, ignoring Clara's scathing look. "Congratulations to you and your wife."

Both Raoul and Christine rewarded her with a warm smile. The fact that Christine was far from being aristocratic clearly disturbed some of the guests. No one had dared to offend her openly, but some remarks clearly contained underlying insults. But the daughter of the Marquise seemed genuinely happy for them.

This was of course true. Joséphine desperately wanted them to be happy, for that would mean Christine would not want to leave her husband for Erik. And if Erik could not have the woman he loved, maybe he would content himself with her. It was undignified, yes, but it was her last hope of having Erik stay with her.

"I have heard you got married as well," Raoul replied, "so may I offer our congratulations to you and your husband?" His eyes took in the man standing next to her, who gave the impression of not being too comfortable at events like these, and offered him his hand.

"Congratulations, Monsieur…"

Erik hesitated only a moment before shaking the proffered hand, but Joséphine thought that in that instant she saw a flash of recognition pass Christine's face.

"Perrault, Erik Perrault. Congratulations from my part," Erik said, his voice not betraying his inner turmoil. He too had seen that Christine had recognised him, and was worried that the moment of exposure had come too soon. But Christine did not say a word, only looked at both of them in a strange way.

"I hope that you will do me the favour of a dance later in the evening, Monsieur le Vicomte," Clara spoke up, smiling sweetly.

Raoul nodded dutifully. "Certainly, Madame la Marquise, I would be honoured. And I hope your daughter will save me a dance as well."

"With pleasure, Monsieur le Vicomte." Joséphine answered. "If you would excuse us for a while, I just saw some of our friends over there, and we would like to say hello."

Raoul bowed, and Christine smiled at her, though she looked somewhat irritated, clearly not knowing what to think of the couple she had just encountered.

* * *

As soon as they were at a safe distance, Erik addressed her. "I was not sure if you had felt my nudge."

Joséphine only nodded affirmatively. "She knows who you are, doesn't she?"

"Yes."

"And she did not tell her husband," she continued. "I guess that is a good sign."

"Hm."

They had no chance to continue their conversation, for Florence de Douville had finally found them and immediately began telling her friend the latest gossip. Erik only listened half-heartedly, his eyes roaming over the ballroom, reverting back to Christine. He sincerely hoped that he would get an opportunity to talk to her.

* * *

An hour or so had passed, and after the Vicomte and his wife had opened the floor with their dance, he saw his chance when Christine walked over to a chair near the doors that led to the terrace, resting for a moment, while Raoul was dancing with the Comtesse de Tolbiac. He bowed to the ladies, excusing him for a moment.

Joséphine stiffened; she knew where he was going. She had hoped to put this off for a while longer, but it was only logical that Erik would cease the first opportunity he had. Longingly, she looked after him, hoping against anything that he would return to her willingly, not because Christine had rejected him again.

Almost as soon as Erik had disappeared into the crowd, the Comtesse de Faubournet de Montferrand approached then, fanning herself rapidly.

"Have you heard the latest news?" she asked them excitedly.

Florence's eyes lit up. "What news are you talking about, my dear Comtesse?"

"You know that the Vicomte and his wife were not expected to return before next month?" Without waiting for their affirmation, she continued. "The reason they came back so early is that apparently, the girl already is expecting!"

"Oh, that was fast!" Florence exclaimed, clapping her hands in excitement.

"My words exactly. One cannot help but wonder if the child is his or if the 'Vicomtesse' had other acquaintances during her time at the opera, right? If you will excuse me, I have to talk to Madame Marinvilàs about this information." That said, the Comtesse continued her way through the guests, intent on telling everyone she knew, whether they were interested or not.

'What a vile woman', Joséphine thought. Of everything Erik had told her about Christine, she did not think it possible that she had been anything but innocent before marrying the Vicomte.

So Christine was pregnant? She was not sure how Erik would react to that. But still, this information allowed her to raise her hopes a bit. Surely, the girl would not leave the Vicomte now they were to have a child?

"You don't look too well, Joséphine. Here, I brought you some punch." Clara had arrived next to her, offering her a cup, which she took gratefully.

"She's right, Joséphine. You do look exhausted. Maybe you are having a relapse," Florence told her, concerned for her friend.

Joséphine shook her head, though she felt anything but well at the moment. She had developed a severe headache over the day, and the music and constant chatter of the crowd were not really helping

"It is a bit hot in here, that's all," she told the women.

"Why don't you take some fresh air on the terrace then?" Clara offered.

Florence nodded. "That is a good idea. Do you want one of us to join you?"

"No, I will be fine. Amuse yourselves, I will be back in few minutes." Finishing her punch, she handed the cup back to Clara with a nod, then made her way through the guests towards the open doors.

Clara looked after her thoughtfully. Only moments ago, she had seen Joséphine's husband go outside. Hopefully, the arsenic she had put into the punch would do its deed this time and Joséphine would die in the presence of her 'beloved' husband.

The fact that she had emptied the bottle into the whole punch bowl would clear her of any involvement, because everyone would think the servants to be responsible for it. She had drunk some of it too and like others would also show some signs of poisoning, but only Joséphine would die, since she had already been fed a dose of arsenic a few days back and therefore was in a poor condition.

Yes, her plan was flawless, she thought. She may not get a hold on the money, but at least, she would have her revenge.

_A/N: Links to pictures that inspired me for Joséphine's dress can be found on my profile. I couldn't find a pic of a necklace that ressembled her collier though, but think of the Titanic Saphir and then add the other stones left and right to it.  
Thanks for reading, reviews of course welcome!_


	32. The Ball Part 2

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Thanks to Green6Eyed7Lady for looking over my chapter!_

**THE BALL PART 2**

After Erik had left his wife with Florence, he purposefully made his way towards Christine. When he came close though, she was involved in a conversation with an elderly woman.

But as if she had sensed him, her head rose, and her eyes met his. He gave a slight nod, then walked out onto the terrace. Choosing a spot that was only dimly lit but gave him full view of the doors, he waited nervously, not sure if Christine had understood his wink.

Only seconds later, his former pupil emerged through the doors, her eyes roaming over the terrace, searching for him.

"Angel?" she whispered.

"Over here."

Christine turned and hesitantly approached him. Even in the dim light, she was still breathtakingly beautiful. She had filled out a bit, clearly for lack of constant exercise that she had had while being a dancer.

"My god, it really is you," she said when she had come close enough.

When this woman and the tall man had offered their congratulations, he had immediately seemed familiar. It had taken her a while to notice the mask, but then she instantly had to think of her former teacher. But she thought it impossible that this man could be the Opera Ghost. He seemed so different, the only resemblance being the mask.

But when he had looked at her before walking outside, she suddenly was sure of his identity. Those golden eyes were unforgettable.

Timidly, her hand rose to his new mask, not really surprised that he shied away. "What are you doing here?"

"Christine…."

Erik was at a loss for words. For so long, this woman standing in front of him had occupied his thoughts, had been his whole world. But when she reached for him, he had a flashback of her revealing his deformity for the whole opera house to see. He never feared exposure when he was with Joséphine.

'What in God's name am I doing?' he asked himself. Instead of kissing the grounds the woman that loved him sincerely was walking on, he hurt her and continuously stalked after the woman that already had rejected him once because she loved someone else.

He took her hand and put it back to her side. Christine looked at him, bewildered. "Angel? Please, talk to me," she pleaded. "I prayed that we would meet again."

Erik cast her a doubtful look. "You did?" he asked her.

Christine smiled; glad that her guardian finally spoke to her again.

"Of course," she told him enthusiastically. "I always wondered what had become of you after…after that night." She hesitated a moment. "I feared that you might have…"

'Committed suicide because I could not imagine living without you?' Erik thought. It was true that he had thought about ending his life, but he would never tell her that. And thanks to Joséphine those dark thoughts really belonged to the past.

"Have what?" he asked her, his tone soft but demanding.

"Never mind," Christine answered, feeling that it was unwise to linger on that particular subject. Instead, she talked about the first thing that came to her mind. "This woman, is she really your wife?"

Erik only nodded, suddenly wanting to end this conversation as soon as possible and return to his wife. But he had not counted on Christine's reaction to his revelation.

Christine raised her hand again, but this time stopped at his shoulder, her fingers playfully caressing his collar. "I thought you loved me," she said, pouting.

Before Erik knew what was happening, Christine had risen on her toe tips and pressed her lips on his. The moment their lips touched, Erik knew that he no longer loved her. He even started to get angry with her for kissing him. How dare she? And at a ball in her own home, with her husband not far away.

Then, realisation dawned on him. She may not love him, but had always counted on him desperately being in love with her. It hurt her that he was married, to find out that she was no longer the sole object of his affection. Had she always been that superficial that she thought everyone must adore her? Erik had no answer to that.

Erik started to break away when he heard the voice he least had wanted to hear in that particular moment.

* * *

Joséphine really did not feel so well, and the alcohol in the punch apparently was doing her no good either. She had started to feel dizzy now, and was glad when she could feel the cooling breeze from outside.

Stepping through the doors, she took a deep breath, inhaling the cool night air. A light sent of jasmine was lingering in the air, coming from the darker corner to her left. She turned her head, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dark.

And then, all the hopes she had just had moments ago evaporated into smoke. There, in the corner, Erik was kissing Christine. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she felt as if her heart was torn into a thousand million pieces. Having proof that Erik really did not love her, was only passing his time with her until he had Christine back, hurt more than she would have ever thought possible.

She must have said something, because suddenly Erik broke away from the girl and looked at her. The surprise was evident in his eyes. Her own darted towards his lips, remembering their kisses. It had all been a fake. He had made her fall in love with him, played with her like a spider with a fly, caught in its net. And she had been stupid enough to fall for it.

She did not want him to see her tears, so she turned around, dashing back into the room.

* * *

When Erik stepped away from Christine, he only saw Joséphine turn around hastily, rushing back inside.

"Oops." His eyes darted back towards Christine, who had the nerve to look at him innocently, grinning.

Disgusted, he shot her a look that made her still instantly. "Angel?" she said hesitantly.

"I am no longer your Angel, and now excuse me; I have to see to my wife."

"But…"

"Go back to your husband, Christine, he loves you." 'Even though he would probably be better off without you.'

All this really had been one of his less brilliant ideas. 'Idiotic, that's the word you're looking for,' his conscience mocked him when he passed through the crowd in search for his wife. 'Irrational, just like in your high times as the Phantom,' the voice continued.

'Enough,' he silenced the voice. 'I will…'

Suddenly, he heard a commotion inside, followed by surprised yells and calls for help. A dark foreboding came over him, and he dashed trough the crowd towards it.

When the crowd parted to reveal what had happened, he thought his heart had stopped for a moment. There on the floor lay Joséphine, unconscious, her face as pale as his old mask had been. A few people were bent over her, trying to help her.

"Joséphine!" In a second, he was at her side, trying to waken her. Panic seized him, the fear of losing her the moment he had finally realised that he loved her overwhelming. Tears started falling down his face when she did not react.

"Please, wake up! I love you, Joséphine, wake up!" he cried, not noticing that one of the persons next to him had reverted his attention from the unconscious woman on the floor to him, observing his face, or, in fact his mask.

* * *

Raoul had not noticed the mask at first, when the Marquise and her family had offered their congratulations. Only after a while, he had realised why the face of Erik Perrault appeared a bit strange. But no one, not even Christine seemed to make the same connection like he did. In fact, this man seemed to know some of the other invites, chatting amiably with them and showing no sign of being uncomfortable.

While he had danced with the Comtesse de Faubournet de Montferrand, who he knew had been present that fateful night at the Opera Garnier, he had nonchalantly inquired about him. The Comtesse had waved off his suspicions, telling him that she had already met him before at a dinner, and that in no way Erik Perrault could be the person he thought him to be. But still, she could not fully appease his doubts.

So when he had seen the daughter of Stanislas d'Escayrac pass the ball room without her husband, he had approached her, asking her, hopefully unsuspicious, about her husband and his strange 'accessory'. Thankfully she had not been the least bit offended by his inquiry, answering him without hesitation, and he sensed immediately that she truly loved her husband.

But what if he was the Phantom and she simply didn't know? Suddenly, the woman in front of him had grown ghostly pale, her eyes turning upwards, and she had fainted dead away. He had reacted instinctively, catching her fall, so she did not hit her head on the floor.

Other guests gathered around them, someone calling for a doctor, and then, Erik Perrault had appeared, kneeling down next to his wife, begging her desperately to wake up.

For the first time, Raoul de Chagny had the chance to observe him up close, noticing not only the mask, but also the fake hair. He really had a striking resemblance to the Phantom of the Opera.

One of the main reasons for their small wedding and rash departure on honeymoon had been his fear that, despite having let them go that night, the Phantom would come after Christine again. They only had returned that early because she was pregnant, and he did not want to tire her from travelling. There had been no sign of the Opera Ghost since they had left, and Raoul thought it save enough to return.

And now the monster apparently was back, had set foot on the Chagny property, but instead of going after Christine, he was kneeling above another woman with tears streaming down his face, telling her he loved her.

* * *

Erik was desperate. Why wouldn't she wake up? She had looked sick the last few days, and a dark thought crossed his mind. Could it be that Clara had something to do with this? Had this been her plan all along? He looked up, searching for her face in the gathered crowd, but could not see her. If she was responsible for Joséphine's current state, he would kill her and never regret it.

The doctor arrived, checking Joséphine's body for any outward injuries, then recommended to get her home as soon as possible for further treatment. Erik only nodded, still in a daze.

'Please, don't let her die!' he thought desperately.

When he scooped Joséphine's unconscious body up in his arms, he saw Christine approach the Vicomte.

'It would only fit,' he thought cynically, 'that she tells her husband who I am, now that I rejected her. But if Joséphine dies, I no longer care what happens to me.'

Not waiting what Christine would tell the Vicomte, he followed the doctor outside, the crowd hastily parting for them.

* * *

When Christine came back inside, still offended by Erik's rejection, and intent to talk to Raoul, she was surprised to find a big commotion across the room. Thinking that Raoul, in his duty as tonight's host, might be there, she walked over, in her mind already preparing what she wanted to tell him. She did not expect to find both Erik and Raoul, tending to the woman her former teacher had left her for.

The moment Erik took Joséphine into his arms she bent down to her husband's ear.

"The Phantom, Raoul, he is here!" she whispered, trying to appear shocked and scared.

Raoul turned his head to look at her. So it really was the Phantom, but why had Christine not told him earlier, if she had already recognised him before?

"It's him," Christine continued, discretely pointing at Erik's retreating form. "Don't let him leave, or he will try to hurt me again!"

Raoul looked back towards the Phantom, who at the moment disappeared into the corridor towards the main doors. He could not imagine that the tears that man had spilt were faked. He had moved on, and no longer was a threat to them. And if Joséphine would get well again, he would not take away the man she loved from her.

Making up his mind, he stood up. "Erik Perrault? He's not the Phantom, you must be mistaken."

Christine looked at him, shocked.

"But…"

"They may have the mask in common, but that is not the same man that haunted you at the opera," Raoul told her sternly, indicating clearly that he was not willing to talk about that subject again.

"Now come, we have to make sure that the ball continues."


	33. Talks, Truth and Tears

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. BIG thanks to Luthien Saralonde for doing an amazing job this time betaing this chapter, thanks also to Green6Eyed7Lady for looking over it!_

**TALKS, TRUTH AND TEARS**

The carriages ride home seemed to last an eternity for Erik. The doctor, a wiry man in his fifties with greyish hair and a walrus moustache, was continuously checking up on Joséphine, and Erik concentrated on every breath she took, fearing it might be her last.

At home, Erik nearly broke down the door, hastening to get his wife in her room, so the doctor could examine her properly. Mathilde and other servants had come rushing into the vestibule when they heard the entrance door open with a bang, wanting to know what was going on. Erik barked at them to leave him alone, motioning only for Mathilde to join them.

In her room, the doctor began a thorough examination of Joséphine, checking her pulse, breathing and temperature. Erik waited impatiently for the doctor's verdict, pacing the room, while Mathilde cowered near the door, ready to dash out as fast as possible in case anything was needed to help her friend.

After a few minutes, the doctor turned from the bed and addressed Erik.

"Has your wife eaten anything out of the ordinary?" the doctor asked, his tone severe.

Honestly, Erik had no idea, but then he saw Mathilde shaking her head.

"No Monsieur," Mathilde replied.

"She has not been ill in the last months?" the doctor inquired.

Erik shook his head. "No."

The doctor turned towards the bed once more before addressing Erik. "I am sorry to say that I don't know the cause of her illness. It seems like her body functions are shutting down, and I really don't know how to help her," he told him compassionately.

Erik was devastated, for the thought that he might actually lose her was too much for him to bear. His head jerked up when Mathilde spoke.

"Monsieur, could she have been poisoned?"

Erik's blood ran cold. Why hadn't he thought of that? Of course it was poison, and he knew who was responsible for it. He mentally berated himself for not being more suspicious of Clara's behaviour the last few days. If he hadn't been so preoccupied with the event of the upcoming ball, he perhaps could have put an end to, or even prevented, Josephine's suffering.

A rage so hot and overwhelming it took all of his self-control to suppress it overtook him then, but he was able to tether it down after several deep breaths. He was certain this was the product of Clara's devising, but before he had garnered enough proof, he did not want the doctor to be the wiser of his suspicions.

The doctor looked at Mathilde for a moment before responding. "What makes you say that?"

"I..." she began, but was stopped short by the look Erik shot her. "Just a thought, Monsieur."

"I admit that poison could very well be the cause, but I shall have to research the symptoms she has displayed in order to find one that could have caused this reaction." The doctor closed his bag and strode towards the door.

"At the moment we can do nothing but wait and see if her body is strong enough to overcome this illness. Give her water; it may help clear her system. Otherwise, there isn't much we can do for her."

Beside him, Mathilde broke into sobs, and though Erik felt similarly, his fury and drive to exact revenge drowned out all other emotions at that time.

"I will come by tomorrow morning to check on her. If her condition changes at all, for better or for worse, during the night, then send me a message, and I shall make all haste to come here," the doctor said, shaking Erik's hand before leaving the room.

As soon as he was gone, Mathilde rushed forward to kneel by her friend's bedside, giving into her tears. Erik looked at the scene for a moment, then stepped forward, touching her shoulder lightly. She turned her head to look at him through watery eyes.

"I would never have thought the Mistress capable of doing something like that," she choked. "But it was her, right?

Erik produced a handkerchief and handed it to Mathilde before replying, somehow glad that she had come to the same conclusions.

"I think so, and believe me, Clara will pay for it."

"But without proof, the police cannot arrest her," Mathilde told him.

"I will find a way," Erik replied with a deadly voice before striding over to the connecting door.

Mathilde looked at him for a moment, hesitating a moment before she spoke, halting him effectively.

"If you use your lasso, people will know who you are," she whispered, just loud enough so he was able to hear her.

Erik wheeled around, shock written all over his unmasked side.

"What did you just say?" he choked out.

"Monsieur, I am not stupid," Mathilde said, bravely standing up as she spoke. After she had dried her face on her sleeve, she continued, "You came here with half your face covered, just after the scandal at the Opera Garnier. I had...feared that you had threatened Josephine to take you back with her, when you first arrived, even though Joséphine told me your marriage resulted out of a mutual agreement."

Erik opened his mouth to reply, but Mathilde stopped him, raising her hand. "I know now that my assumptions were wrong." She cast a glance back towards the bed, where Joséphine laid, her breath coming in shallow gasps, before looking back at Erik. "But after everything she had to go through, you cannot blame me for wanting to protect her," she said, her voice stern.

"Mathilde…"

"Don't worry, Monsieur, your secret is safe with me," she assured him, a small smile gracing her lips. "You two are good for each other. So please, be careful when you deal with Clara. Joséphine needs you."

Erik looked at her, astonished. So the girl had known all the time? Had she talked to Joséphine?

"Does…"

"No, Joséphine doesn't know I am aware of your identity. She always protected your secret," she answered his unasked question, before he even had time to finish formulating the sentence.

"Thank you," Erik said after a while, making her blush.

"What do we tell the other servants, Monsieur?" Mathilde asked him, having understood that he wasn't at ease to talk any more about this and thus changing the subject.

At that moment, the door flew open to reveal Florence, panting heavily. She took a moment to take everything in, then immediately turned towards Erik.

"How is she?" she asked, concerned.

"We will see," Erik replied, surprised by her presence.

"I came here as soon as I could. It seems that one of the servants poisoned the punch."

"What?"

Letting herself fall down into the chair next to the window, Florence caught her breath before continuing. "After you left, others started complaining about stomach aches and general unease, though Joséphine is the only one so far that passed out. She must not have completely recovered from her illness, since she was affected more than the others," she pondered.

Erik and Mathilde exchanged a glance, shock clearly written over both of their faces. Neither of them would have thought Clara to be so ruthless as to risk the health and lives of others to get rid of her stepdaughter.

"Mathilde, tell the servants not to disturb us," Erik finally said.

"What about…?"

Erik shook his head. "No, not yet."

Mathilde gave a small nod, then, after curtsying to both of them, quietly left the room.

Erik joined Florence at the window, his face stern. "Tell me what happened."

"You had been gone for only a few minutes, when the Vicomte d'Yveslains started complaining about cramps and such. Within minutes others showed the same symptoms. The Vicomte let call for another doctor, who in turn alerted the police after examining and questioning those who had fallen sick. All had consumed a rather large amount of punch, and at the moment the doctors are trying to find out which poison has been poured into it."

Florence looked outsight into the night. "The police think that someone does not approve of the Vicomte's choice of wife and wanted to cause a scandal. The poor girl, I cannot imagine how she must feel right now."

"This has nothing to do with Christine," Erik said quietly, not even registering that he was using the Vicomtesse's Christian name.

Florence looked at him quizzically. "I beg your pardon?"

Erik hesitated for a moment, but then decided that it was worth the risk to confide in Florence de Douville.

"There are some things you should probably know, Florence," he began, his voice heavy.

"You're scaring me, what are you talking about?" Florence asked him, concerned.

"First of all, Joséphine has never been sick, and what she's suffering from now is all Clara's doing."

Florence gasped. "What? I remember receiving a letter from Joséphine, telling me that Clara had forbidden her to leave the house. But just the day before, Clara had informed me that Joséphine had started hallucinating because of her high fever, believing herself imprisoned and rejecting every help Clara wanted to give her." She stood and approached the bed. "But look at her now!" She motioned towards the bed, her face distraught. "You cannot be serious, Erik! Clara could not have hurt her husband's daughter!" she cried, needing desperately to believe that no one she knew would be capable of hurting someone like that.

"Did you know that Joséphine signed a contract with her father, forcing her to marry before her twenty-fifth birthday or her inheritance would almost entirely fall to Clara?"

Florence's eyes widened and she shook her head.

"It would not have been a big problem, had her father not gone missing, and her stepmother imprisoned her to prevent her from finding a husband in time," Erik recounted.

"So her illness was really nothing but a lie?" Florence asked, her voice trembling, dreading his answer,

Erik nodded slowly, and Florence broke into tears, sagging back down into the chair.

"But...I suspected that things were not as they seemed when I was denied entry to visit Joséphine. Up until that moment I had taken Clara's word at face value, because...she..." she stopped, unable to continue.

Pulling a handkerchief out of her reticule, she cleared her nose, then continued, hiccupping slightly. "Oh God, I should have been more suspicious."

Not knowing how to react to the second woman who broke into tears in front of him in only a few minutes, Erik reached out and awkwardly patted her hand. "It's not your fault, do not blame yourself, I beg you."

"What happened then?" Florence asked, having composed herself enough to continue the conversation.

"Shortly before her birthday, Joséphine stole out of the house, wanting to go to the poorhouse to bribe someone into marrying her. She stopped in a church to seek encouragement in prayer, and that is where I first met her." Erik gave a lopsided smile, remembering their first encounter.

"Why were you there?"

Erik pondered for a moment about what to tell her without her making the connection between him and the Phantom as Mathilde had done. But he could think of no lie convincing enough to replace the truth.

"I am…not a handsome man," he began, his tone quiet, hesitating of baring his soul before this woman. "I had been rejected far too often because of my disfigurement, and I thought about ending my life back then. And then, suddenly, this woman appeared, begging me to marry her. At first, I refused, thinking she was joking, but she would not give up so easily."

"She has always been rather stubborn," Florence said.

"It was purely a marriage of convenience. She had gained access to her inheritance, and I had found a wife who at least could stand my appearance."

"But…I've seen the way you two look at each other," Florence chided in. "There is something between you."

"You are right, there is now. I simply wanted to tell you how we came to this." He gave a nod towards the bed. "Clara tried everything to bring us apart, which effectively brought us only closer. Over the last few days, Joséphine seemed to have fallen sick, though she always waved it off when asked about it. I think Clara has somehow succeed in poisoning her in the last week."

"But she would gain nothing from this!" Florence exclaimed. "As her husband, all of Joséphine's money belongs to you!"

"I think she is aware of that, and that her sole motive is getting revenge by killing Joséphine," Erik stated.

"We cannot…we must inform the police!" Florence told him, agitated.

"And tell them what?" Erik shook his head. "We don't even know what kind of poison it is. And I must admit that it was a stroke of genius that made her pour the poison into the punch, so other guests at the ball would fall ill as well. Since it is common knowledge that Joséphine has just recovered from a severe illness, nobody would find it suspicious that she was more affected by it than others. There is no proof for Clara's involvement."

"You do not mean to let her get away with this?" Florence asked, appalled.

"Of course not," Erik replied in a tone that sent shivers up Florence's spine. "But first, we have to take care of Joséphine." Erik stood and held up his hand, which she took gratefully, still shaken by everything Erik had revealed to her.

"The doctor said that there isn't much we could do but sit and wait. But I have a friend who worked in law enforcement in Persia, where poisonings are much more common. He might be more knowledgeable about it and link the symptoms to a specific poison. Will you look over her while I notify him of what happened?"

"Of course!" Florence sat down on the bed next to her still unconscious friend. Before Erik opened the door, she called after him. "Thank you for trusting me with the truth, Erik."

Erik nodded and then stepped out of the room, almost falling over Mathilde, who had been waiting in the corridor.

"How is she?" she asked him almost instantly.

"Unchanged. Make sure to give her water like the doctor said. And do not let anyone else into the room."

"Where are you going?"

"I am getting a friend who might be able to help her. Madame de Douville will stay with her while I am gone." Not waiting for her reply, Erik almost flew down the stairs, and dashed out of the front door. He wanted to be back as soon as possible, hopefully with something to save his beloved wife.


	34. Waiting

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart.__ A big applause and thanks to my faithful beta Luthien Saralonde, who is always faster in going over the chapter than me writing it..._

**WAITING**

The way from his home to Nadir's apartment on the Rue de Rivoli had never felt so long. Yet, Erik thought it was faster going there himself instead of first writing a note and sending it by messenger. In addition, it gave him something to do. He simply couldn't sit beside his wife, not knowing if she would make it, having nothing that could help her. He had to try everything.

As soon as he arrived in front of Nadir's door, he started pounding ferociously on the wood, not caring if he woke other residents in the building. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long, for when he raised his hand for another assault, the door was ripped open, revealing a dishevelled Nadir.

The Daroga just took one look at Erik, and wordlessly motioned him inside.

Slow from just having woken, he moved over to the kitchen corner, and started heating water.

"We don't have time for tea, Nadir," Erik said, his voice urgent.

Nadir turned around and looked at him. "Tell me then, what makes you come here so late?"

"Joséphine got poisoned," Erik told his friend, coming straight to the point.

"What?" Nadir asked, shocked.

"It's Clara, she gave her something that made her feel worse every day the last week, and at tonight's ball, she passed out, and hasn't awoken since."

"What symptoms does she have?" Nadir enquired, walking over to a book shelf on the opposite wall. He took a book from the third shelf, opening it in the index.

"In the past few days, she complained about a headache, she had no appetite and apparently felt nauseous. Her eyelids and extremities are swollen, and her skin is blotchy," Erik informed his friend.

"Hm, sounds like arsenic, but I better make sure," Nadir replied, licking his thumb before starting to browse through the book.

Minutes passed, while Erik paced the room, impatiently waiting for his friend to find something.

"Why do you have to be a Muslim, my friend? I could clearly use something alcoholic right now!" Agitated, he ran a hand over his head, nearly taking off the wig because of it.

Nadir only paid him a reproachful glance, knowing that Erik had not meant to offend him, and concentrated again on the book. After a few minutes, he found what he was looking for.

"There," he said, taking the book over to the table in the dining area for Erik to see. As they both bent over the tome, Erik was apprehensive recognising the Arabic script. It had been a while since he had read something in other than Latin letters, so it took him a while to read and translate the text.

Nadir was faster than his friend, and looked up once he had finished. "Just as I thought, her symptoms match perfectly with arsenic poisoning," he told Erik.

"Is there an antidote?" Erik asked his friend, a hinge of hope in his voice.

"We need garlic. It says that the sulphur it contains may help clean the body of the arsenic.* There is nothing else indicated here that could be useful." Nadir shut the book and went in the bedroom to get dressed.

"How do you think Clara got a hold of it?" Erik asked him from the living room, his voice raised to be heard.

"As far as I know," Nadir explained, buttoning his robe while he emerged from the bedroom, "women use arsenic to lighten their complexion, either in pills or in skin powders. I guess the dose in the pills could be enough to poison somebody, I don't think there is enough arsenic in the powder though."

Nadir went back to the bedroom, having forgotten his frock coat. "Do you have any idea what food or drink contained the poison?" he called out from inside, emerging seconds later.

"The Cassis!" At Nadir's questioning look, Erik elaborated. "The day we got the invitation, Clara did not drink her usual glass of Cassis with Joséphine after dinner, preferring stronger alcohol that night. I don't think I saw her drink the Cassis this week at all."

As soon as Nadir was ready, they rushed out of the house. Since Erik was not sure if they had garlic in his house's kitchen, Nadir proposed to split up, offering to get some cloves from a nearby restaurant, tavern or shop, a task which could be difficult, given the lateness of the hour, while Erik headed back home as fast as he could.

* * *

When he got back, Erik decided to check on his wife first. Furthermore, it was probably less suspicious if Mathilde went looking for some garlic in the servant's part of the house than himself.

Climbing the stairs in a run, he went into Joséphine's room without caring to knock. He stepped over to the bed, looking over his wife. Her breathing was more laboured than when he had left, and Mathilde tried to feed her some water in small doses, holding the glass to her friend's mouth, while Florence massaged her throat, making sure she swallowed.

The women did not notice him at first, so Mathilde gave a small yelp when she put the glass back on the night table and found Erik looming over them.

She spoke before he could ask the question.

"I fear it's getting worse, Monsieur. She can't keep the water down, and has had fits of uncontrollable shaking." Mathilde had trouble looking directly at Erik, for the desperation on his face made her eyes tear up again.

Florence was slightly more controlled and took over the conversation. "Have you found something that could help her?"

Erik tore his gaze away from the unconscious body of his wife, once more quelling down the fear of losing her or it would overwhelm and paralyse him completely.

"Maybe," he addressed Mathilde. "Go look for some garlic in the kitchen. My friend said it helps against arsenic poisoning."

Wasting no time in questioning his order, Mathilde rose immediately, curtsied slightly and rushed out of the room.

"Arsenic? That's what she used?" Florence asked Erik, rising as well.

Erik nodded. "It's used in cosmetics, so she could easily get it."

Florence grew pale. She had also used arsenic pills from time to time, had even taken it before the Chagny ball to improve her fair complexion. She had heard about women taking too much and nearly dying of an overdose, but she would have never expected Clara to stoop so low and use it to poison her stepdaughter.

"Oh Erik, I wish there was anything I could do to help." She hoped not only for her friend's, but also for his sake that Joséphine would soon be well again. In a comforting gesture, she placed her hand on his, and was not surprised when he jerked away. Sensing that he needed a moment alone with his wife, she strode towards the door.

"I'll go send for news from the investigation. We wouldn't want the police to arrest some innocent servant, right?"

Erik only nodded, already turning back to the bed, sitting down on it after Florence had left. Gently, he pushed a strand of hair out of Joséphine's face. Her skin felt damp and clammy, and fear gripped his heart again. He cleared his throat.

"O Joséphine, I am so sorry for what I have done to you. I knew your feelings toward me, and yet I still treated you poorly. I was... selfish...I don't know what I expected from seeing Christine again."

"I know now that I didn't see what chance I had though it was right in front of me. Seeing you there on the floor, nothing else mattered but you."

Erik took her hand in his own, stroking it gently, then stilled when his fingers touched the wedding band she wore. Tears came to his eyes.

"I promise I will buy you a real wedding band. And we will travel the world; I will show you all the places you wanted to see."

His tears had started falling freely now, and Erik angrily tore away his mask, wiping them away.

"Please stay with me, Joséphine, I love you, I will..."

The door opened, and Mathilde rushed back in, a desolate expression on her face. Her eyes widened when she set eyes on Erik's unmasked face. Realising his exposed condition, Erik reached immediately for the mask and turned his head away to put it back on.

"I am sorry Monsieur," Mathilde whispered, somehow troubled by what she had just witnessed. "All the garlic was used in last night's dinner and Clementine hasn't bought new one yet," she continued, again on the verge of tears.

Erik's heart sank, and he hoped that the Daroga would be more successful at acquiring the spice.

Thankfully, he did not have to wait long, for Florence appeared at the opened door, followed by the Persian.

"I hope you don't mind me letting him..." Florence began.

Erik sprang from the bed. "Did you...?" he asked, and let out a deep sigh, when Nadir reached into his left pocket and took out some cloves.

"My friend," Nadir said tentatively, "don't get your hopes too high, we cannot be sure yet if it is not already too late to help her."

Erik shook his head. "No, it won't be. It just cannot."

Nadir turned towards Mathilde. "Please child, get me a board and a knife. We need to crush the garlic and feed it to her."

Mathilde dashed out of the room again as fast as possible to get what the dark man needed.

She was back immediately, handing the utensils over to Nadir, who, having taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, silently cut and crushed the cloves he had peeled before. The intense aroma of the garlic began to fill the room. Then he gave it back to Mathilde, who fed her friend the crushed spice while Erik held Joséphine's head.

When they were finished, they gave her some water after to help the garlic go down easier; Erik massaging his wife's throat just as Florence had done earlier.

Silence filled the room once they were done, all eyes focused on Joséphine's prone body. Her condition still was unchanged.

"Now we must see that she keeps it down," Nadir finally broke the palpable silence. "We'll give her another dose of it in the late morning, and see if her condition improves."

He rolled down his sleeves and put his jacket back on, then offered his arm to Florence. "I think it is too late to go back to bed now. Would you care for some tea?"

Florence bestowed him with a grateful smile. The whole ordeal had exhausted her, but like all the others in the room, she was incapable of going to sleep without first knowing if her friend would survive. She looked back towards Erik and Joséphine.

"We won't be far."

Erik nodded. "I'll call for you as soon as her condition changes."

When they opened the door, they heard the entrance door open and a commotion downstairs. Erik sprang from the bed again, his back straight and his face livid.

"She wouldn't dare coming home now!" He strode towards the door, and had to be held back with the combined forces of Nadir, Florence and Mathilde, who had jumped up from her place in the corner on the other side on the bed to help restrain her employer.

"Erik, calm down," Nadir said sternly. "I don't think that was her."

"If you want, I can go and take a look. You can stay with your wife," Florence offered.

Erik, whose eyes had been fixed on the corridor, was waiting for Clara's face to appear at any moment, laughing at them. Slowly, he got himself back under control and finally nodded in acquiescence.

"I will be right back," Florence said, throwing a troubled glance at the Persian before she left, closing the door behind her.

Letting out a deep breath, Erik indicated his friend that he could let go of him, then walked over to the window.

His friend was probably right, it couldn't have been Clara. She had to know that he would find her guilty of what had happened, and would not dare come home, fearing the repercussions. She had every reason to stay as far away as possible at the moment. But where she had gone to after the ball, he had absolutely no idea.

What he would do now to have her at his mercy. Every torture he used under the reign of the Khanum came to his mind, but still they would not be enough. The mirror cabinet could have been a good start, but he doubted that it had survived the raging fires that had consumed the opera.

Unconsciously, his hands started wringing the thick tissue of the curtains, until the sound of tearing garment elicited a sound from Mathilde and brought Erik's mind back into the room. He turned around to look at her, and was taken aback by the look on her face.

"We all have the same thoughts going through our minds, Monsieur," Mathilde commented. "But you are the most capable to do something about it," she continued, imitating a hanging gesture. Now it was Nadir's turn to gasp. He looked at Erik, an unspoken question in his eyes. Erik nodded tiredly.

"It seems I did not hide so well after all, my friend," he told the Persian.

"You knew?" Nadir asked the maid, unbelievingly.

"I'm not stupid Monsieur," Mathilde said somewhat offended. "I did not say anything because of Joséphine. She loves him, and I would never go against her."

"This is most..." Nadir began, but was interrupted by Florence coming in.

"Raoul de Chagny is here to see Joséphine, Erik."

_A/N: __Arsenic has no taste, and is therefore ideal for poisoning, mixed with food or drink. In 1836 James Marsh, a British chemist developed a method to recognize arsenic poisoning in _**dead**_ bodies. I couldn't find out if they were capable to recognize and counteract the poison on the still living.  
Usually death occurs 4-24 hours after ingestion, but I prolonged the effects, for obvious story development. Clara gave her a dose in the Cassis on Monday, and then, seeing that it's not working fast enough, pours poison into the punch at the ball. _

_* I read on the net (Wikipedia – arsenic poisoning) that the __sulfur-containing substances in garlic scavenge arsenic from tissues and blood__ and help as a preventative in areas at risk of arsenic contamination in the water supply__. I'm taking some liberties with this information, making garlic the antidote, as well with describing the __symptoms of the poisoning; some were just to cruel to let Joséphine suffer from them._


	35. Conversations between Enemies Part 1

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart.__ Thanks to my ever faithful beta Luthien Saralonde! She rocks, and always encourages me! Thanks this time also to Timeflies for going over this chapter!_

**CONVERSATIONS BETWEEN ENEMIES PART 1**

All the air escaped from Erik's lungs. What in the devil's name was the boy doing here? Had Christine convinced him that he had threatened her again and he was now out for revenge? Or, against all odds, was it as Florence had said, and he simply wished to inquire about Joséphine, who had fallen ill after all at a ball in his own home?

After the less than splendid confrontation with Christine at the Chagny estate, was he willing to deal with yet another ghost of his past tonight?

"Erik?" the Daroga inquired hesitantly.

'To hell with it,' Erik thought. 'If Joséphine doesn't survive, I might as well end up at the gallows. Or maybe she is right, and I have a right to exist. Let's see then.'

"Send him in," he said, determined.

Mathilde's and Nadir's eyes grew wide as Raoul de Chagny entered the room, both of them apprehensive of what was going to happen. Florence, sensing the tension that had build up as the Vicomte entered the room, looked around, unaware of the complex history that bound two of the men currently present together.

The Vicomte, like the others who had been present at the ball, still wore the same attire as he had hours earlier, though his tie had come loose and the first buttons of his green vest that had matched his wife's robes were open. His shiny shoulder-length hair was still slicked back, but a few strands stood up at odd angles. He clearly had a long night behind him.

Raoul took in the apprehensive faces of the people in the room and for a moment doubted if he had made the right decision in coming here. But people had gotten hurt at a ball he had hosted, and he had to make sure they were alright. He had spent the whole night talking to the police, looking for the culprits, and checking on the people who had suffered from the poisoning. Joséphine was the last on the list of many visits he had done that night.

"Vicomte," Erik said, schooling his voice carefully to betray no emotion.

"Monsieur Perrault," Raoul replied, likewise carefully. He turned towards Nadir. "I believe we haven't been introduced yet. I'm Raoul de Chagny." He stuck out his hand to the dark man.

"Nadir Khan, Monsieur le Vicomte," the Persian replied.

"Are you the doctor from abroad who treated Joséphine during her illness?" the Vicomte asked him, revealing thus that he had not been privy to last months' gossip.

The Daroga shook his head. "No, though I have some medical knowledge." He motioned towards Erik. "I am a friend of Erik," he explained.

Raoul immediately understood the underlying meaning. This person knew that the masked man in front of him was the Opera Ghost. He eyed the dark man suspiciously.

'I wonder what else will be revealed tonight?' he asked himself silently.

Deciding that their common past was a subject too delicate to approach at the time, Raoul turned his attention towards Joséphine. "How is she?"

Erik, still too troubled by the boy's sudden presence, was not prepared to answer, so it was Nadir who spoke up.

"She has not regained consciousness since the ball, and her condition has been very disquieting indeed. We gave her some garlic to hopefully counteract the effects of the poison, but until now, there are no visible results to this treatment."

Meanwhile, Raoul had slowly stepped closer to the bed to get a better look at Joséphine. She still wore the same dress, though the laces of her corset had been loosened to ease her breathing, which was none the less terribly shallow. The midnight blue colour of her dress, which had fit her so well at the ball, made her skin now look even paler, almost ghostly. Her skin was covered with a sheen of perspiration, indicating a fever. Under her eyelids, her eyes darted uncontrollably back and forth, as if she was having a bad dream.

Raoul was shocked. He had not known that the young d'Escayrac was that sick, or he would have come by sooner. When he had talked to her, shortly before she fell unconscious, she did not seem to have been inebriated from the punch. Yet, she was the first to have succumbed to the poison and definitely the sickest. Maybe it affected her that much because she had just recently recovered from a long illness, but still, suspicion reared its head; something did not add up here.

When he made to take her hand, he immediately felt the Phantom's presence behind him. Protectively, Erik had come closer to observe the Vicomte.

All night Raoul had pushed back the visit here; preferring to deal with incompetent Gendarmes who had no idea who could have poisoned the punch than facing the Phantom of the Opera again. All night he had mulled over how best to approach him, since it was inevitable that he paid a visit to Joséphine. All night one horrible scenario after another had come to his mind, and in the end he had chided himself for being so scared.

At the ball his intuition had told him that his former adversary no longer posed a threat to him and Christine, that's why he had cut her off when she had correctly identified Erik Perrault as her former teacher. That fact that the man was now so protective of his wife told him that he had been right. Erik's priorities lay elsewhere now, and from what he had learned in the short conversation with Joséphine, he had finally found someone who returned his feelings.

"I really hope she will get better soon," Raoul said sincerely, turning around to face Erik. The two men looked at each other, their common past still standing between them. "Can we talk?" Raoul murmured. Erik gave a small nod, then glanced over at Nadir.

Nadir nodded in understanding, and walked over to Florence, who stood near the door. "Do you still care for tea, Madame?"

Florence looked between the occupants of the room, still not quite comprehending what was going on. "Yes, thank you," she replied.

Unobtrusively, Nadir motioned for Mathilde to leave the room as well, who promptly slipped out through the adjoining door to Erik's quarters.

As soon as the others had left, Raoul spoke up. "Christine said that you threatened her at the ball."

Erik, who had walked over to the window, whirled around, his face grim. For a moment, he thought about telling the boy the truth about what really had happened, but he was not sure if he was going to believe him.

"Is _that_ why you came here?" Erik asked bitterly.

Raoul shook his head. "No, it isn't." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "It is terrible what happened tonight," he said, not yet willing to approach the delicate subject. "The police are still out looking for the culprit."

"They can stop looking," Erik said. "I know who did this."

The Vicomte's eyes widened. "What? How? You..."

Erik snorted, offended. "No! Do you really think me capable of..." He stopped when he saw the look on Raoul's face, and let out a deep breath. "I admit that, given my past, some might come to this conclusion, but I am _not_ responsible for the poisoned punch."

Raoul raised his arms defensively. "I never thought you were. I am simply curious how you can know who did this."

Erik looked at the man before him. He was so young, and the events at the Opera Garnier were probably his only confrontation with the depths of the human soul. He was not entirely sure if he could trust him.

Still, he motioned for him to join him at the chair near the window. Once Raoul was seated, Erik leaned back against the curtains, and looked over to the bed. "I love her, I really do." Realising that his opponent might misunderstand him, he elaborated. "I mean Joséphine."

Raoul had to smile. "I know, I saw your reaction at the ball when you found her unconscious on the floor. I talked to her just moments before it happened, and I know that she feels the same for you."

"Probably not any more," Erik murmured, crushed.

When Raoul looked at him quizzically, wanting to know more, Erik was momentarily struck with the hilarity of the current situation. He was talking to his former archenemy, discussing his love life! But he had let so many people in on him tonight, what did it matter to talk to the Vicomte now; reassuring him at the same time that he no longer had any plans concerning Christine.

"Joséphine saw me and Christine on the terrace." Now was moment of truth, he would soon know what Christine had told her husband.

"What happened out there between you and my wife?" Raoul asked seriously, discarding his jacket to get more comfortable.

"Did she not tell you?" Erik asked him, suspicious.

"I want to hear it from you."

"You wouldn't believe me if my story differs from Christine's," Erik stated solemnly.

"Try me," Raoul replied.

"Very well," Erik conceded. "I hoped to get closure by seeing Christine one last time." 'Gods, am I really doing this?' he thought. "I was in love with my wife already, but had a hard time admitting it to myself. What I felt for Christine was so...different, so strong, so...I mistook obsession for love," he admitted.

"When she went outside to get fresh air, I followed her, wanting to say goodbye." He hesitated, not sure how the Vicomte would take the news of his wife's reaction. "She...did not respond well to the fact that I no longer desired her," Erik finally said, watching closely for the Vicomte's reaction.

Raoul's mouth opened, but he did not say anything, so Erik continued. "She started teasing me, and then..." Erik let out a deep breath, "...she kissed me. Joséphine unfortunately chose that moment to come outside." Erik had finished his account, and now waited for Raoul's verdict.

Raoul stood and began pacing the room. "You know it's hard, finding the version of your former enemy more believable than that of your own wife." He glanced at Erik, but did not stop moving. "She told me that you had threatened her, forced her to come with you, and that she was only saved by another guest appearing at the doors."

"You believe me rather than her?" Erik asked incredulously.

"If you had planned on taking her away, you would have never shown up at the ball like this," Raoul admitted, finally halting his stride.

Erik was at a loss for words. The Vicomte, whom he had tried to kill only a few months back and who therefore raided the whole town in search for him, was on his side. He looked over to the bed, where Joséphine lay. 'Please let her live,' he prayed silently.

"I have no desire to cross the paths of your wife again, Vicomte," he told him.

Raoul walked up to him, and surprised him by holding out his hand. Erik took it after a moment's hesitation, their handshake a silent promise to bury their strained past, and start a new chapter.

"If your wife lives, it will be inevitable. We are after all in the same class," Raoul answered. "Do you care to tell me now what you know about the poisoning?"

"Joséphine's stepmother is responsible for it," Erik said quietly, sitting down on the bed.

Raoul's eyes widened. "But why?"

"Joséphine made a deal with her father before he disappeared. She had to marry before her twenty-fifth birthday or lose her inheritance," Erik started to explain. "The night I fled the opera was two days before her deadline. She offered me a place to hide in exchange for a marriage."

"So she knew from the beginning who you were?" Raoul asked astounded.

Erik nodded. "When we met, I did not even have anything to conceal..." he motioned towards his face.

Raoul was baffled. He couldn't but admire her strength. When he had first seen the Opera Ghost's face revealed on stage, he had flinched, and his deformity was even worse up close. Yet, she had married him, knowing all the time what he hid behind the mask, and still had fallen in love with him. He was not sure if he could look past such an abhorrent disfigurement.

"If we had not married, all her money would have fallen to her stepmother Clara. You can imagine that she was less than happy when we came home. Clara had actually imprisoned her here to prevent her from marrying," Erik explained.

"Her long illness was nothing but a lie then?" Raoul asked, sensing already where this was going.

Erik nodded. "Clara tried everything to break up the marriage, but did not succeed. I suppose she knows that killing Joséphine will not give her access to the money, but she seems to be solely driven by revenge now. She must have started poisoning her in the last days before the ball, and then added a certain amount of arsenic to the punch to conceal her crime," Erik concluded, his voice again tight with anger.

"She does not know who you are, right?" Raoul asked.

"No, and I prefer to keep it that way."

"Can you prove what she did?"

"Right now, no. Not without exposing Joséphine and therefore probably myself," Erik answered honestly.

Raoul considered the possibilities for a moment, then sighed. "I never thought I was going to say something like this, but you might have to revert to the Phantom's ways to get back at her."

"Joséphine would never approve of it," Erik replied immediately.

Raoul had to smile at that. "You really aren't the same man you were a few months back. But you cannot possibly let her get away with this."

"I don't intend to," Erik said. He stood up and walked over to the window, finally drawing back the curtains to let the morning light shine into the room. He turned back around to face Raoul. "But Joséphine can never know."

"I promise not to say a word," Raoul replied honestly. "So, do you have a plan?"


	36. Conversations between Enemies Part 2

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart.__ BIG thanks once more to Luthien Saralonde, she is the best beta a writer can get!_  
_A/N: I won't bother you with excuses for not updating sooner, just let me tell you that I am _terribly_ sorry for letting you wait sooo long for a new chapter. I also had to do some changes at the end of chapter 27 for the story line about the poisoning to be logical and fitting. If you like, read it again, it's nothing big though.  
Well, here goes, enjoy!  
_

**CONVERSATIONS BETWEEN ENEMIES PART 2**

"Not yet," Erik answered. "And honestly, I fear if Clara gets home before I have one, I might just black out and strangle her. After all, she deserves it."

"You have to stay calm, Erik," Raoul advised him, addressing him with his name for the first time. "And I think she knows she better stay away at the moment." Erik rewarded this with a grunt. "You have to think of something, you are a genius after all," Raoul continued, feeling strange to admit this to his former enemy.

Erik stared at him, bewildered, then sneered. "A genius that turned to madness, weren't those your words?" Erik taunted him.

Raoul flinched. "You heard that?"

"It was my Opera house, I knew everything that was going on inside of it," Erik replied dryly. "But that is of no importance now," he added.

Raoul let out a breath he had not known he had been holding. It was true that he just had asked of Erik to resurface the old demons, but he preferred them not to be directed at him. It took him a while to comprehend that Erik had made a joke, for he now registered the smile on his face. 'Good God, this is definitely one of the strangest nights in my life' he thought.

"Have you searched her room already?" Raoul offered, going back to the matter at hand.

Erik shook his head. "No, I concentrated solely on my wife."

"Well, let us do it now then," Raoul said, walking over to the door. When he saw that Erik did not move, he turned around. "Are you coming?"

Erik looked at Joséphine. Her breathing seemed to have improved slightly, and she appeared calmer. But even if it was for only a moment, he did not want her to be alone. He walked over to the adjoining door to his rooms, and knocked.

His intuition had proved him right, for Mathilde opened the door the second he pulled his arm away. Immediately, she spoke up, her eyes cast down. "Please Monsieur, don't think that I spied on you and the Vicomte. I merely chose to wait here, in case Joséphine needed anything." She looked up sheepishly, waiting for his verdict.

Erik had to smile at the devotion she showed for her friend. "Take care of her; we will only be away for a moment."

Glad that he believed her, Mathilde nodded enthusiastically, and curtsied to the men before walking over to the bed and sitting down next to her friend.

Quietly, Erik followed Raoul outside on the corridor, and then took the lead towards Clara's quarters.

The door to the Master bedroom was closed, but fortunately not locked. Joséphine had once told him that it had been her parent's room, and that Clara, as soon as she had been married, had wanted to throw away all her mother's belongings. Stanislas was so terribly in love with his new wife that he had let her do as she saw fit. He understood that being surrounded by memories of his first wife in the bedroom would not be a good start in a new marriage, and frankly, looking at some of Isabelle's souvenirs was depressing for him as well. Joséphine had merely been able to save a few pieces of what were once her mother's possessions.

Uncommon for married couple of their class, Joséphine's parents had shared a bedroom, since their marriage had been not arranged, but formed out of love. Stanislas was also very much in love with Clara, so it was only logical for him to continue this habit.

But, since three years into their marriage Clara still had not conceived an heir for the title of the Marquis d'Escayrac, Stanislas had moved to the adjoining room, only sharing the bed with his wife now and then. He had withdrawn more and more from Clara, who, in her unhappiness, for she had come to love her husband, had started to fill the void with excessive shopping tours.

As a result, the wardrobe was nearly impossible to close, and the whole room was filled with knickknacks and hideous porcelain figures, the bed covered with frilly pillows and small dolls. Erik thought that it seemed rather like the room of an old spinster than of a married woman in her prime. He glanced at Raoul, who apparently had come to the same conclusion, as he looked around in bizarre and unveiled wonder.

Erik strode over to the vanity, and started looking for pills or some powder like Nadir had described it to him, while Raoul continued staring around amazed. Finally, he rose from his stupor and started looking around in drawers for something that might help them convict Clara.

On the right side of the vanity, Erik found a small pot that contained a loose white powder. The script on the label confirmed him that it was indeed an arsenic powder. He continued looking for pills, but found none.

Exasperated, he turned around and addressed the Vicomte. "Have you found something yet?"

Raoul, who had been checking the drawers of the bedside table, straightened and shook his head. "Nothing. If there is any incriminating evidence against her, it is definitely not here. What about you?"

Erik held up the powder pot, and Raoul came closer. His eyes widened in recognition. "My sister uses the same brand on a regular basis. But there is no way it contains enough arsenic to poison one person, let alone a whole bowl of punch. Besides, given the mixture and scent of it," he opened the pot and held it out to Erik, who drew back, disgusted. It smelled strongly of vinegar. "...your wife would surely have noticed a difference in taste."

Erik withstood the urge to pound his fist into the dressing table mirror. He had never felt so helpless. Where had Clara gained access to the poison? She could not have simply bought it somewhere without raising suspicions, and she would not have involved someone else, not even her truest oldest most faithful maid Camille, for fear of being betrayed or blackmailed.

His gaze roamed the room, and fell on a couple of photographs on top of the dresser to his right. He moved closer, examining them. There was the wedding picture of Clara and Stanislas, both looking enormously happy, a picture of an elder couple, supposedly Clara's parents, for they were on another photograph together with Clara and a young man. It was her brother Pierre, Stanislas' assistant.

Joséphine had told him that her father was a naturalist, a bookworm with a streak for adventure. Pierre was a chemist and botanist. After his second marriage, Stanislas had bought a small house in the Quartier Latin, close to the Sorbonne University, which served them as laboratory and storeroom.

"The laboratory," Erik muttered.

"What laboratory?" Raoul asked, confused.

Erik tore his gaze away from the photographs and looked at Raoul. "Joséphine's father is a scientist. She told me once that he and his assistant have a laboratory close to the Sorbonne. They always brought back samples of plants or stones to examine and study them more closely. Chances are big that they have arsenic in the laboratory."

Raoul nodded, understanding. "So you think Clara's brother is somehow involved too?"

"No, her brother is missing in Africa, along with Stanislas d'Escayrac." Erik explained.

"Oh, yes, I remember reading something about that last year in the papers," Raoul replied. "So, are we going to the lab then?"

"I must ask Mathilde if she knows the right address," Erik said, walking back out into the corridor. It only took him a few long strides to be back in front of Joséphine's door. "Vicomte, I..."

"Raoul, call me Raoul," the young man interrupted him. Erik looked at him, surprised. Raoul looked back, amused. "Do you not think that after everything we have been through, we can forgo formalities and be on a first name basis?"

The cheek of the boy! But, he was right. He opened the door and they walked inside. His eyes immediately went to his wife, looking for any change in her condition, then to Mathilde, who shook her head.

"Raoul, I don't know if I am able to leave Joséphine right now. I need to be by her side, in case she..." he broke of, not wanting to voice what he feared the most.

"I will go alone then," Raoul told him.

Erik walked over to the bed. "Mathilde, send for Nadir and Florence to come back here as soon as possible." As soon as the maid was outside, Erik continued. "Nadir will go with you."

"Believe me, you can trust me on this," Raoul exclaimed, understanding being mistrusted by his former enemy, but outraged none the less. "I also want the culprit caught. I don't need a watchdog!"

Erik raised his arms, telling him he had meant no offense. "This is not about trust," he explained. "Nadir was a policeman in Persia, he is an expert in investigation, and he knows exactly what to look for."

Raoul nodded. "Alright. Is there anything else I can do?"

"I can't think of anything right now." Erik sat down on the Joséphine's left, stroking her hand softly. Raoul walked over to the other side of the bed, staring down at the couple. Erik's love for Joséphine seemed so deep, so complete.

Why had Christine lied to him? She achieved nothing from it, so why had she asked Raoul to go after Erik? After people had started showing symptoms of poisoning, they had waited together for the police to arrive in the front parlour. Once more she had recounted how her former teacher had interrupted her talk with another guest, grabbing her forcefully and dragging her onto the terrace. He had then implored her to come with him, for they were meant to be together.

When she had told the Phantom that she was with child, he had been furious, threatening to get rid of the unborn child, and it was only when another guest had arrived on the terrace, inquiring if she was alright, that she had been able to free herself from his grasp and run back inside, looking for Raoul.

The minute she related the story to him Raoul knew that it was not true, because he had seen Erik's reaction to Joséphine's sickness, and knew that he had no feelings left for his former pupil. But perhaps some of it was true after all, that's why he had asked Erik earlier to recount his version of the events.

Erik had not indicated that he knew about Christine's pregnancy. Raoul wondered how he would react to that. Sooner or later, if they succeeded and Erik stayed with Joséphine, he would learn about it, so why not tell him now?

'Because you fear to discover another lie from your wife,' his conscience told him. 'After all, you thought that you were the perfect couple, childhood sweethearts reunited, facing every threat and emerging victorious and strengthened in your love from it.'

What did it say about his marriage when his wife had no scruples whatsoever to lie to him? Joséphine here had known from the start who she married, while he instead began to have the feeling that he barely knew his wife at all.

When Raoul cleared his throat, Erik looked up at him, his eyes questioning.

"When you talked to Christine," Raoul began.

'There we go again,' Erik thought. 'I knew this was far from over.'

"...did she tell you why we came back to Paris earlier than foreseen?"

Erik shook his head, not knowing where this was heading.

'Maybe he is only feigning ignorance,' Raoul thought, even though part of him did believe his opponent.

"You know, I am so glad that in her condition, Christine had to stay away from the punch," Raoul continued, letting Erik come to the conclusion on his own.

"What condition? Is she s..." he stopped, realization dawning. "Oh."

It was clear to Raoul that Erik had no prior knowledge of Christine's pregnancy. His head hurt, and his heart as well.

Erik saw how Raoul's shoulder's slumped slightly, and he looked defeated. He was going to be a father, something Erik was never going to be, he thought bitterly, so why did he look so unhappy about it. Then, suddenly he understood.

"She told you I knew about it, didn't she?"

Raoul nodded. He looked so young and forlorn at the moment, and Erik, for the first time since their paths had crossed, felt sympathy for his former enemy.

"Do not fret over what she said. Christine is young, and she always tended to exaggerate her stories. She clearly had counted on me continuing to pine for her, and she would have been right, had I not met Joséphine." Erik lovingly looked down on his wife's face, then back up at Raoul. ""I think for her it was all done spur of the moment; she was piqued that I was no longer attached to her. But she loves you, I know it, and you know it too. Let it drop, or you will blow this whole affair out of proportion."

Raoul stared at him, dumbfounded. He had just been given a marriage counsel by the Phantom of the Opera. This night was even stranger than the one after the untimely end of 'Don Juan Triumphant', albeit less dangerous. 'At least for me,' he thought with a quick glance towards Joséphine's continuous still form.

"Raoul?" Erik's voice jerked him from his thoughts. "I really appreciate your help." Erik's tone was sincere.

"You're welcome."

* * *

Notified by a messenger sent by Mathilde, Florence and Nadir were heading back towards the Escayrac's house in fast strides. Given the late hour and the fact that there were no coffee houses nearby, they had sat down in a nearby park. Florence had let Nadir in on everything that had happened so far.

When they arrived at the front door, another messenger, a young boy in filthy clothes, addressed them from the front gates.

"Excuse me? Is the Vicomte de Chagny here?" he asked them timidly, out of breath. He must have run here.

"Yes boy," Nadir answered, going back to meet him.

"I have a message for the Vicomte, could you pass it along to him?" the boy asked, stretching out his hand which held a sealed envelope.

Nadir took out some coins and thanked the boy for his delivery. As soon as the money was safely stored in his pockets, the boy dashed of down the street.

"What is that?" Florence asked Nadir, curious.

"I do not know," he answered.

* * *

When they arrived in Joséphine's room, Mathilde had once more taken her place close to her friend, on the other side from Erik. Raoul stood close by, apparently lost in thought. Nadir went over to him and handed him the missive.

"This message was delivered for you," he explained. Erik looked up, wondering what this was about.

"It must be from my solicitor. I told him to inform me should there be any news." Raoul tore open the seal and flew over the letter. Finally, he looked up.

"I know where Clara is."


	37. Looking for Evidence

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. My wonderful beta Luthien Saralonde, I adore you!  
To my readers, and of course especially my reviewers: BIG BIG THANKS for sticking with me!_

**LOOKING FOR EVIDENCE**

Four heads jerked around to look at him after Raoul had made his announcement. Erik flew up from his position next to Joséphine and approached the Vicomte, fully intent to tear the letter from his grasp, but restrained himself at the last second from doing so. Instead, he halted close to Raoul, his face murderous.

"Where is she?" he pressed out through closed lips, barely controlling his rage.

The tension in the room was palpable and Raoul hastened to reply. "This," he waved the letter in the air, "is a message from my solicitor. He's telling me all the names of the guests that suffered from poisoning, and whether they were stable enough to go home or had to be admitted to a hospital. It states here that Clara and 5 other guests were transported to the 'Maison Dubois' in the rue du Faubourg-St-Denis."

"Why would Clara drink the punch if she knew it was poisoned?" Florence asked, puzzled.

"I suppose she assumed that being among the victims would clear her of all suspicions," Nadir replied quietly. "It seems she severely miscalculated the administered dose and its effects."

"Serves her right for trying to kill Joséphine," Mathilde huffed, her voice devoid of sympathy.

"Still, it makes connecting her to the poisoning much harder," Raoul said, his eyes focused on Erik, who had yet to utter a word.

It took all Erik's strength to calm down and not race over to the hospital immediately to tear Clara apart. He clenched and unclenched his fists and let out a deep breath. "Is there anything else in the letter?"

Raoul hesitated a moment before answering. "Well, apparently the police arrested two of my servants. They think them responsible for the attack."

"Why do the police think them the culprits?" Nadir asked.

"The girls are relatively new to the Chagny household, and they worked in the Opera Populaire before. The police assume that they were jealous of Christine and wanted to destroy her coming-out in society."

"But they are innocent!" Florence exclaimed. "We must help them!"

Raoul nodded solemnly. "I will send a reply to my solicitor ordering to help them. Surely the police will release them once they learn that I do not think them responsible."

Florence seemed to be satisfied with his answer, and nodded slowly. "What about Clara?" she asked quietly.

When Erik did not reply, the Daroga closed the distance between them and put a hand on his shoulder. "Erik?"

Erik shook his head. "We will deal with her later. First, I want you and Raoul to go to her brother's laboratory and find proof that she got the poison from there." He turned towards Mathilde. "You will give them the address and the keys."

Ignoring every one else, he returned to his place at Joséphine's side, saying nothing more at the moment. Only his stiff posture and a slight twitching of his hands now and then betrayed his inner turmoil.

Mathilde returned within five minutes, a small paper with the address attached to the keys.

Raoul hesitated before leaving, wanting to speak to Erik again, but Nadir shook his head. "Leave him be, he is not in the mood to hear anything you say right now." That said he ushered the young Vicomte out of the room.

* * *

The two men hired a carriage to get to the Quartier Latin as fast as possible. The first few minutes neither of them spoke, but then Raoul broke the silence.

"I hope that Joséphine will be fine."

Nadir only nodded. He knew that Erik would be devastated, should he lose Joséphine. In all the years he had known him, he was one of the strongest people he had ever met. He had refused to be broken by the Shah, or by the Khanum, and he had survived Christine's rejection. But if Joséphine, the one woman who had accepted and loved him as he was, died, it would surely kill him.

"How long have you two known each other?" Raoul continued, his tone hesitant.

"Since his time at the Persian court." Raoul's eyes widened, so Nadir explained. "He was brought there as a young man, and employed by the Shah as an architect. As time moved on, he had to do other deeds for the Shah and his mother as well." His tone indicated clearly that he would not elaborate further.

Raoul fell silent again, but not for long.

"Do you think we will be able to reveal Clara's full responsibility without endangering Erik's position?"

Nadir looked at the Vicomte sharply, searching for his motives, but he could only discern honest concern on the young man's face. So, he chose to answer truthfully.

"I do not know. If Clara is arrested as the culprit behind the attacks, the police will want to know her motives, and they surely will question Erik and Joséphine as well. It is possible that they will not investigate closely how their marriage came about, but I wonder if it is worth the risk."

"Up until tonight I was sure that if I came across the Phantom again, I would do everything in my power to arrest him for the murder of all those people in the opera, and for the crimes he committed against me and Christine." Raoul looked out the window before setting his eyes back on the Persian. "Now I just want him to find peace."

Nadir smiled. "Keep your friends close, your enemies closer."

Raoul's lips twitched. "Something along those lines. It is true though, if he finds happiness with Joséphine, he certainly won't bother me or Christine. Still, if the risk of exposing Clara's schemes is too high, why are we even going to this laboratory?"

Nadir pondered a moment before answering. "I guess Erik wants absolute proof of her guilt. He needs justification that it is necessary, even unavoidable, to revert to his old ways to make her pay for what she did. Joséphine will surely confront him if she ever finds out, but if his actions towards Clara are unjustified, she may never forgive him."

"You think he is going to kill her?" Raoul asked hesitantly. Though he had to admit that the doings of this woman were most foul and evil, he could not condone her murder.

"Only if he's able to blame her death to the poisoning she suffered. But no, I don't think so. For Erik, mere death would be too simple a punishment for her, especially if Joséphine does not make it."

Raoul opened his mouth to reply, when the carriage came to an abrupt halt. Nadir stepped outside first, then turned around, blocking the door. "Believe me, sometimes it is better to not know what Erik does. Especially if you know what he can be capable of."

* * *

Stanislas d'Escayrac and Pierre Rochat's laboratory was placed in a small one-storied house close to the Sorbonne in the Quartier Latin. All curtains were drawn shut and the house looked abandoned. The door opened easily though, and upon entering, a foul smell of rotten plants enveloped them. Both men took out handkerchief and held them in front of their faces to fight off the stench.

The upper floor held two small bedrooms and a bath, used by the scientists when they were too engrossed in their work and too exhausted to go home. The ground floor consisted of a small kitchenette and living room converted into library. Most parts of the surface though had been dedicated to the many plants the two men had brought back from their expeditions. It had not been very unlike to the winter garden at the manor, but months of neglect had taken their toll. The plants had died and were rotting away, creating an awful smell of decay. Cobwebs and dust lay on every surface.

Raoul made a step to move towards the staircase, since Erik had told them that the main part of the laboratory was in the cellar, but Nadir halted him midstride, pointing on the floor. Footsteps were clearly visible on the dust-layered on the wooden floor, leading directly to the staircase.

"Someone was here recently," Nadir stated.

"Clara. Those are the soles of women's shoes," the Vicomte answered.

"Very observant of you, Vicomte," the Daroga said a smile on his lips. "Try not to step on them." That said he made his way over to the staircase, lighting a gas lamp that stood on a table to the left of it. Raoul followed suit and together they went downstairs.

In the cellar Nadir stopped, lighting the lamp next to the door before cautiously proceeding further into the room.

From the multitude of footsteps on the floor it was clear that Clara had searched all around the laboratory before finding what she had come here for. Dozens of shelves were lined up along the walls containing countless jars and boxes, each labeled in the neat handwriting of Joséphine's father, though somewhat faded from age. On the work table in the middle of the lab stood two microscopes, a distillery station, and various other utensils. Like upstairs, everything was covered in a layer of dust.

Observing the room closely, Nadir walked off to the right, carefully avoiding the footprints again. He held the gas lamp he had taken with him closer to a shelf containing several jars with minerals. One jar on a lower board was labelled 'arsenic, powdered' and it was the only one without a thick dust coat.

"Well, looks like the Phantom has his proof," Raoul said, having come up behind the Persian.

Nadir straightened up and turned to face the Vicomte. "Yes."

"And by coming here, we have incriminated the place, leaving only two options: either Clara confesses by herself, or Erik deals with her."

Nadir had to give the Vicomte credit. Now that they had left their own traces here, it would be impossible for the police to tell who had been here earlier. They had contaminated a crime scene and could therefore not press charges against Clara without being questioned as well, raising more suspicions than necessary. The sole option left was letting Erik deal with Clara as he saw fit, without ever involving the authorities.

"Did you know all along what this was about?" the Daroga finally asked.

Raoul turned, walking back towards the stairs. "I had my suspicions."

"And you don't mind being used like that?" Nadir pressed on, following him.

Raoul halted on top of the stairs, but didn't turn around. "If Erik had really threatened Christine tonight, I would not have waited for the police to arrest him. I did that before, and ended up being free only because of his mercy. No, I would have killed him with my own hands to protect the woman I love. If I am willing to act like this, how can I reproach him his need for revenge?"

Finally he turned around, his face stern. "If Erik was to be exposed as the Phantom, my wife and our marriage would be dragged through the mud again, and in her condition I want to avoid anything that might cause her stress. As you can see, Monsieur Khan, I have my own selfish reasons for helping Erik Perrault."

That said, he continued towards the entrance door. If Erik had heard the Vicomte's speech, he would have thought him less naive than at their last encounter beneath the opera. Nadir simply followed him outside, and the carriage ride to the Escayrac manor was passed in silence.

_A/N: Hope you enjoyed it, I'm not that fond of this chapter, but I found the story needed to give Raoul more depth...even if his (movie) hair is still awfully foppish..._


	38. The Phantom's Return

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Big thanks once again to my wonderful beta Luthien Saralonde, I love you girl, you're the best!_

**THE PHANTOM'S RETURN**

When Erik looked up again from Joséphine's still form, Nadir and the Vicomte were gone. Florence sat quietly in the chair by the window, seemingly exhausted, while Mathilde sat opposite him on the other side of the bed, now and then stroking her friend's hand, begging her in whispered tones to wake up again.

How long had they been gone? Erik had completely been lost in his thoughts. He knew he should wait for their return, but he could no longer wait to take revenge on Clara. He had to go to her and end it tonight. His blood was boiling with white hot anger against the vile woman.

He looked back down at Joséphine's unconscious form to calm back down, but seeing her there, fighting off the poison did nothing but fuel his determination.

Slowly, he rose from his position on the bed. Something must have shown on the unmasked left side of his face though, because Mathilde rose as well, alarmed.

"Monsieur, what are you doing?" she asked him, her tone hesitant.

"It is nothing of your concern," Erik answered and started walking towards the connecting door between his and Joséphine's quarters.

But suddenly, his way was blocked by the petite form of the servant.

"You cannot leave now, Monsieur!" she cried, her eyes pleading with him to understand.

Erik looked down at her, silently admiring the maid's courage to stand up to him. No wonder Joséphine saw her as a true friend, they really had a lot in common.

Still, she had no right to hinder him. Not when his mind was set.

"I am the master of this house," Erik reprimanded her, "and now move out of my way!"

Mathilde did not move, though her whole body had started to tremble.

"Move, Mathilde," Erik said threateningly, his voice rising. "Now!"

"What is going on?" Florence had woken up from their exchange, and spoke up, her voice still a bit hoarse from sleep.

Mathilde immediately saw her chance to get an ally against her master and addressed her mistress' friend. "Monsieur wants to go after Clara," she explained.

"As it is my right to do!" Erik cut her off. His eyes had taken on a dangerous gleam and Mathilde's heart started pumping wildly in her rib case. She wondered if she was in her right mind to provoke the infamous Phantom of the Opera. But she could not let him leave now. He was clearly not thinking straight, and thus could endanger himself and Joséphine by any rash actions.

Luckily, Florence had come to the same conclusion (without the Phantom part of course) and had risen to stand beside the maid. Together, the two women blocked his path.

Erik wondered if the world had truly gone mad tonight. Within a few hours he had been kissed by the woman who so long had been his centre of affection and it had meant nothing to him, then his former adversary was helping him, and now those two women, an upper class lady and a servant girl, stood united in front of him to keep him here.

And he hated to admit it, they were winning. Had it been a man blocking his path, he would have punched him in the face and walked over his crumpling form. But these two, both only coming up to his chin in height, knew that he would never harm them. He could glare all he wanted, yell at them to let him pass, but to no avail.

The Phantom of the Opera had been bested by two women.

'Maybe if Madame Giry would not have cowered so quickly before me, she would have dissuaded me from my plans more often,' he thought, amused.

When he turned away, frustrated to no avail, he missed the look of triumph on the Florence's face, and the look of relief on Mathilde's. Both knew that their victory was only temporarily.

Mathilde's relief was even bigger when the Vicomte and the Persian chose that moment to come back.

Erik whirled around, surprised, but immediately schooled his features. He really had not noticed how long they had been gone.

Both men seemed exhausted, but all of them showed signs of that night's strain. Erik's gaze graced Raoul, then settled on his old friend.

"As you assumed, there was arsenic in the laboratory. It was the sole jar that had recently been touched," the Daroga informed him outright. "And we saw footprints of lady's shoes on the floor."

Hearing this, Erik cast a sideways glance at his wife, and Nadir knew he had been right about saying to the Vicomte that the only thing that had held Erik back until now was his fear how Joséphine would react to his revenge. Even now, he could not be sure his wife would forgive him if he killed Clara. But maybe, having the Vicomte and her friend Florence on his side, she would understand his reasoning and his need for going after her stepmother.

Erik was torn. He knew that Joséphine would not condone his actions, but he had to end this, and there was no better time than now, while she was still unconscious. If he was fast, he would be back before Joséphine woke up.

Something must have shown on his face, for the Daroga had approached him and said quietly: "Go, we will take care of her. As far as I see it, she will not yet wake up in the next few hours."

Erik gave him a short nod and for the second time in a few minutes, started towards his own rooms. This time, neither Mathilde nor Florence stood in his way, though both looked slightly worried.

When he wanted to close the connecting door behind him, Raoul slipped in. Erik looked at him fiercely, his patience wearing thin. "What?"

Raoul returned his look apprehensively. "I know you want to go to the hospital. Let me come with you."

"No."

But the young man was not so easily deterred. "Listen, it will be less suspicious if you and I show up there together. The 'son-in-law' and the host of the ball are merely enquiring after the state of the poisoned guests. You can simply slip away at an opportune moment."

Raoul's argumentation was solid. Erik had not yet thought about how he was going to approach Clara once he arrived at the hospital. His emotions, most prominent his need for revenge clearly interfered with his clear thinking. Just like it had been the night of 'Don Juan' when he decided to abduct Christine after she had exposed his disfigurement to the public eye.

"Take your revenge, Erik, but don't get caught. I don't want to get Christine and myself any more involved in this."

Erik smirked. "You became involved when you decided to help me. But I promise not to implicate Christine any further."

Raoul seemed content with that, so Erik went over to his trunk by the bed, but halted before opening the lid. "And remember, I am the Opera Ghost, I don't get caught."

Raoul let out a snort at that comment, then came to stand next to Erik. His eyes widened when he saw some of the trunk's contents. There, right on top of some clothes, the mask of the Red Death was staring up at him. A chill ran down his spine as he thought back to the night of the masquerade ball.

Erik felt more than saw Raoul's reaction, and felt strangely shameful for what he had put the young man and his beloved through. Lifting the mask from the trunk, he shoved it in Raoul's hand. "It is not the mask you have to fear. It was the madman that wore it back then."

Raoul shook himself from the memories, and inspected the mask more closely. It truly was an artistic masterpiece. "You were Poe's Red Death," he finally stated. Erik nodded. "You scared the hell out of me when you showed up that night," he admitted quietly.

"And you still grabbed your sword and came after me," Erik replied.

"You were threatening Christine," came the aristocrat's reply.

Erik no longer found it hard to accept that he and the 'fop' had something in common. They would do everything to protect those they loved and cared for. He took back the mask to put it back into the trunk, then thought differently, and put it on the bed. Raoul looked at him quizzically. Before explaining himself, Erik sorted trough his belongings, and soon a long hooded cape, black both inside and out, a small dagger, and a small object resembling a flute joined the mask on the bed.

Erik closed the trunk and walked over to his desk. Ignoring Raoul's presence, he tore off his mask and wiped his face with a cloth he had taken from his pocket.

At the first moment, Raoul was shocked to see Erik's disfigurement again. In the flickering light of the many candles in the underground lair, when Raoul was fighting for his life, this face had seemed monstrous, the grotesque features contorted by rage and desperation. Now, looking at it again, he no longer saw a monster, but simply a man with a terrible fortune thrown on him upon birth. Society did not accept well people who were different.

Realizing how uncomfortable Erik must feel when being stared at, he averted his gaze and turned his attention to the desk. Erik had opened a drawer and taken out a pot with a dark liquid in it, which he was now applying to a full face mask he had seemingly conjured from nowhere. When the whole mask was painted black, Erik carefully placed it in a wooden case, then turned around, grabbed a bag from under his bed and put it with everything from the bed inside. Finally, he put his skin-coloured mask back on and walked towards the door.

Raoul no longer could restrain himself. "What..." but Erik cut him off.

"Joséphine would not want me to kill Clara, no matter what she did to her. But if Clara dies from her own hand, none of us will be responsible for it," he told him cryptically.

"You don't really think that Clara is going to commit suicide, right?" Raoul asked, irritated.

One hand on the doorknob, Erik turned back around. His lips curled into an evil smirk. "When the Phantom is finished with her, it may seem to her the only way to end her suffering."

Not caring if Raoul followed, he strode into the hall. Raoul stood there for a moment, dumbstruck, then hurried after him.

_A/N: I haven't written yet what Erik will do to Clara, so if you have ideas, feel free to share them with me. Thanks for reading!_


	39. Erik's Revenge

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Thanks Luthien Saralonde for doing such a thorough job every time!_

**ERIK'S REVENGE**

During the ride to the hospital, the sky began turning from dark blue to grey; dawn was approaching.

Raoul used the carriage ride for a short nap, but Erik's nerves were too strung to make it possible for him to fall asleep.

Instead, he thought about everything he would like to do to Clara, and what Joséphine would say about it. Inwardly, he was glad that the Vicomte had insisted on accompanying him; his presence would help him to keep his temper. Slowly, a plan started to form in his head.

* * *

When the carriage halted in front of the gates, Raoul jerked awake. Rubbing his eyes to clear his head from sleep, he looked at Erik expectantly.

"Are you taking this," he motioned towards the bag Erik had brought with him, "inside?"

Erik shook his head. "Give me a moment." He opened the bag and took the cape out, folded it and hid it under his vest. He made it look as if he had grown a belly. The dagger went into his boot, the mask of the Red Death into one of the many inside pockets of the cape he wore.

When Erik took out the small object that had piqued Raoul's curiosity earlier, he spoke up. "What's that?"

Erik fiddled with the object before tucking it into the pocket of his trousers. "It helps me change my voice without straining my throat too much. I acquired it in Persia," he informed the man sitting across from him.

His hold tight on the wooden case that contained the black painted mask concealed in the folds of his cape, he and Raoul stepped out of the carriage, paid the driver and passed the front gate to the hospital. In the dim light of early morning, they followed the signs towards the reception area.

The maison municipale de la santé, or maison Dubois, as it was called after the doctor that had built a surgery facility there, was situated in the Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Denis. It had been built between 1853 and 1858 by Thédore Labrouste, who was the main architect of the Parisian hospitals under the prefect Georges-Eugène Haussmann.

It consisted of two complexes grouped around rectangular courts. To avoid spreading infections, the buildings were separated from each other. In all, the hospital could shelter around three hundred patients.

Erik and Raoul headed towards the first court, where the administrative buildings were situated. Passing through the front door, they approached a small desk, where an elderly man in a greyish guard uniform was seated with his eyes closed, clearly asleep. Raoul cleared his throat, alerting the man to their presence. The guard jerked awake, alarmed at having been caught sleeping during duty. When he saw the two noble men nearing, he jumped up from the chair and tried to flatten his worn-down uniform to make himself more presentable.

"Can…can I help you, Messieurs?" he asked them, trying in vain to sound authoritarian.

Erik wanted to answer, but Raoul stepped forward. "Yes, I think you can." He took out a card and handed it the guard, whose eyes widened at the sight of the crest on it. "I am the Vicomte de Chagny. Some of my guests were taken here after an incident at my home and I would like to check on their condition."

"Yes, yes of course, Monsieur, I'll call for the doctor immediately," the man replied, almost bowing before the aristocrat. He turned and ran off a corridor to the left, only to return a moment later with a grim looking doctor in tow.

"Well, that was fast," Raoul commented to Erik as they approached them.

"What can I do for you this early, Messieurs?" the doctor, a man in his fifties with neatly trimmed, friendly mutton chops demanded.

"I am the Vicomte de Chagny," Raoul repeated. "At a ball in my home some guests ingested a poisoned punch and were taken here. I wanted to know if they will be all right."

"There are strict visiting hours, Monsieur le Vicomte, you will have to wait until it is permitted," the doctor said sternly.

"Please doctor, it is very important." Raoul took a glance at Erik, who gave him a nod to continue. "We just found out that the mother-in-law of my friend here," he motioned towards Erik, "was admitted here. We have been looking all over for her. You see, her daughter ingested a lot of the poison as well and their doctor is not sure if she is going to make it."

"If she is that sick, why has she not been taken here?" the doctor asked suspiciously.

Before Raoul could answer, Erik spoke up. "My wife just recovered from a severe illness, so we have a private physician available at all times. He is quite competent," he added.

The doctor looked at him sharply, clearly not liking Erik's tone.

Raoul stepped in to ease the mounting tension, giving the doctor a pleading look. "We just want to make sure that her mother will be all right. And if not, let my friend say goodbye to a member of his family before it is too late."

Erik saw the doctor's resistance weaken and had to suppress a smile. 'God, his puppy eyes could melt a heart of stone,' he thought bemusedly.

"What is the name of your mother-in-law, Monsieur?" the doctor asked finally.

"Clara Marquise d'Escayrac," Erik replied.

"Oh yes, the Marquise. She is suffering from a minor poisoning, and should recover soon," the doctor assured them. "Please follow me."

The three men left the building and walked across the court to the hospital complex. Raoul asked about the conditions of the other patients, while Erik trailed silently along behind them.

* * *

Clara's room was on the second floor in the poison ward. As a woman of high nobility, she had a room of her own. The curtains were half open, but most of the room was still dark. The doctor lit a gas lamp near the bed and checked her vital signs. Clara was half asleep, tossing in the bed and whimpering. Erik had to restrain himself from not speeding over to the bed and beating her senseless.

"Her symptoms are almost gone, but the strain on her body to cope with the poison made her fall asleep. If you talk to her, she should regain consciousness though," the doctor explained.

"Could you give us a moment, Monsieur?" Raoul asked him.

"Of course, I will be down the corridor." That said, he left, leaving the two men alone with Clara.

Erik stepped closer to the bed, looking down at the woman who had brought Joséphine so much pain and sorrow. Her skin was pale and covered with perspiration, her eyes were moving rapidly behind her eyelids. She looked so fragile, lying there, he could simply…

Raoul's hand on his arm brought him back to the present. His hand was almost closing around her throat and he hadn't even noticed it. Erik took a deep breath, calming down. He let go of Clara and walked towards the darkest corner on the opposite site of the room. Raoul looked at him expectantly, staying close to the bed, observing Clara's reaction to whatever Erik was going to do.

Erik opened the wooden case and replaced the flesh-coloured mask with the black one, then covered himself with the all black cape to further disappear into the darkness.

When she gets too distressed, call the doctor," Erik said before he began. Raoul nodded, not knowing what was going to happen.

"I am very angry with you, Clara," Erik began. Raoul was startled, Erik's voice no longer sounded like his own, gone was the smooth timbre he had come to associate with him, it sounded raspy and stressed instead. Looking down at Clara, he saw that she was slowly waking up.

"Do you hate me so much that you had to take out your anger on my daughter?" Erik continued, the voice echoing in the room, making it sound otherworldly.

Clara had drifted totally awake by now and was trying to adjust to the semidarkness. Her eyes fell on the Vicomte. "What is going on?"

"You drank some poisoned punch at my ball. Apparently some of my servants were discontent with the social rise of my wife," Raoul told her smoothly.

"No, I mean, did you hear that?"

"You are the only one that can hear me, Clara," Erik chipped in.

Clara started looking around the room, but Erik was too deeply hidden in the shadows for her to see him. Her eyes darted back to Raoul, who seemed to be unfazed. "Did you not hear him?"

"Hear who?" Raoul asked her gently. He knew that they were playing a dangerous game, but he tried his best to play along. This woman deserved to be punished.

Her eyes swept the room once more, but she found nothing and nobody. She calmed back down. "I must still suffer from the poisoning, I guess. I just thought…"

"Believe me, the effects of the poisoning are your smallest problem right now, my murderous wife!"

"Stanislas!" Clara cried out, her eyes darting around frantically. Her fingers gripped the covers in a vice like grasp.

Raoul leaned over, a concerned look on his face. Erik was impressed, he played his role really well. "Are you all right, Madame?" Raoul asked.

Clara looked at him, distressed. "I…"

"You will never be all right again," Erik interrupted her, his tone menacing. "You will pay for what you did to my daughter!"

"Joséphine? I swear I did not…"

"Did not what? Mean to make her life miserable? Mean to take away her chance of luck? Mean to kill her?" Erik barked. He was getting more furious every minute.

"She's dead? Really?" Clara tried to hide her satisfaction at this news, but was failing miserably. Raoul was appalled. How could this woman be so heartless?

Erik took out the Persian voice distorting device and held it close to his throat. "Why did you kill me, Clara? What did I ever do to you?" he asked, imitating his wife's voice.

Clara paled. "Jo…Joséphine?" she choked out. Even Raoul was surprised by the resemblance of the voice, but he hid it well and did as if he had not heard a thing.

"What about her?" he asked her innocently.

Clara had broken out a sweat, and was searching the room. "She's here!"

"You must be mistaken, Madame. As far as I know, your daughter was brought back to your home after she fainted at the ball."

"But I…"

"He cannot hear me, _mother_," 'Joséphine' spat. "I swear you will never have a moment of peace again."

"Why are you doing this?" Clara asked meekly, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Erik's sole reply was a mad laugh that even chilled Raoul to the bone. When Clara looked ready to faint from stress and fear, Raoul spoke up. "Madame, let me get you a doctor, you are clearly not feeling very well."

"No! Don't leave me alone with them!" Clara cried, grasping the Vicomte's arm, who jerked away, walking towards the door.

"There is no one here besides you and me," Raoul said once more, before leaving the room.

"They won't be able to help you," 'Joséphine' continued. "This will be your punishment, to be haunted by us as long as you live."

Erik let the device drop in his hands and continued in the imitation of Stanislas' voice. "Unless…"

"What? Tell me! I will do anything," she sobbed.

"You will confess what you did to Joséphine, then maybe we will leave you alone," 'Stanislas' said flatly.

"No, I can't! They will send me to jail!" Clara replied, shocked. "You cannot do this!"

"Believe me, I am just getting warmed up." Quickly, Erik replaced the black mask with the one of the Red Death and stepped a bit more into the light. He continued in Stanislas' voice, no longer letting it echo in the room, but giving away his location. "My daughter is always true to her word, you should know that."

Clara turned into the direction the disembodied voice had come from and jerked back. Death was staring straight at her.

Raoul chose that moment to re-enter the room. Luckily for both men, Clara was looking at Erik and missed the look of surprise that fleetingly crossed Raoul's features, but he got himself swiftly back under control. When he was close to the bed, Clara turned to him, pointing back at the mask.

"D…don't…don't you see that?" she pleaded with him.

Raoul let his eyes sweep over the direction she pointed to, his eyes not resting on Erik. "There is nothing Madame. You need to rest, the doctor will be here in a minute."

Hearing this, Erik slowly withdrew and returned into the dark corner. Using the Persian device once more he threatened her one more time. "Confess, or you will soon wish the poison had killed you too."

"I…"

The doctor came in, followed by a nurse. Unseen, Erik walked to the door and slipped out.

* * *

In the corridor, he swiftly slipped of the mask and replaced it with the flesh-coloured one. He leant against the wall, breathing heavily. Erik hoped that he had scared her enough to make her confess, or else he would have to continue his 'haunting'. He changed back into his original cape and slipped back into the room, but stayed close to the door, unnoticed.

* * *

Clara was shaking from head to toe, muttering incoherently. The doctor turned to Raoul. "What happened? She was fine the last time we checked on her."

Raoul rubbed his face, hoping sincerely he sounded convincing. "I don't know. She woke up and started to talk about hearing voices. Can it be a side effect from the poisoning?"

The doctor pondered a minute before answering. "Actually, no. If she was feverish, maybe, but she was recovering nicely."

"So, why is she saying that she is hearing voices then?" Raoul asked nonchalantly.

"I don't know. Did she specify what kind of voices?" The doctor asked, walking over to the bed, where the nurse tried in vain to calm the patient down. "Whose voices did you hear, Madame?" he addressed Clara, his tone clinical.

Clara was hysterical, no longer noticing who exactly spoke to her. Tears were constantly rolling down her cheeks, which were blotchy and red from the agitated state she was in. "Make them go away," she muttered repeatedly.

The doctor looked back to Raoul, then noticed Erik standing by the door. "You are her relative, try to speak to her, maybe she will calm down if she hears a familiar voice."

Slowly, Erik stepped closer, carefully schooling his features. He leaned over the bed and gazed down at Clara, only his eyes betraying the hatred he felt for the woman. "Clara, can you hear me?" he said, pretending for the doctor to sound soothing.

Clara's eyes shot wildly around, her only reaction continuing to fight off the nurse who held her down. The doctor stepped in and helped still Clara.

"Clara, I want you to listen to me very carefully," Erik continued, leaning even closer until his lips almost touched her ear. "You are sick, and you need help." Inaudible for anyone but Clara to hear, he added in Stanislas' voice, "Confess!"

Clara's eyes fixed on Erik, without really seeing him.

"It's working, she reacts to him," the nurse whispered.

"Everything will be all right," Erik continued in his normal voice, loud enough for all to hear, then, without the distorting device at hand, Erik tried his best to imitate Joséphine's voice and murmured again, "Confess!"

Clara cried out loud and tried to cringe away from him, but was held in place. "Get her away from me, she's going to kill me!"

"Who are you talking about?" the doctor enquired, while Erik straightened up, looking down at Clara in an inquisitive way.

"Joséphine," Clara choked out.

"Her daughter," Raoul explained.

"They are trying to kill me, because I poisoned her," Clara cried, shivering. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed against the sheets, sobbing.

Raoul gasped. "No, it can't be."

The doctor looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Raoul looked at Erik before continuing. "I think it was her that poisoned the punch at my home."

Erik played along and shook his head. "Impossible."

"At the ball, Joséphine told me that her mother was unhappy with the choice of her husband, and that she threatened her on multiple times."

"Is this true?" the doctor asked Erik, who nodded.

"She said that she would anything to bring us apart, but I never thought that she..." he broke off.

The doctor moved back to the bed and shook Clara to get her attention. "Madame, did you hear what has just been said? Did you poison the punch? Your son-in-law tells me that you threatened your daughter."

"Her husband is a monster, did you not see him? She only married him to spite me!" Clara cried out. "They deprived me of my money, it should have been mine, all mine! She deserved to die, and he does too!"

Raoul stepped in just in time to restrain Erik, who looked murderous. Clara had regained some energy and tried to get away from the arms that pinned her down.

"Go get Doctor LeMeur and a sedative," the doctor instructed the nurse, "and send for the police. Messieurs, help me keep her down!"

Raoul moved to help the doctor, while Erik remained frozen in place, observing the scene that unfolded before him. Clara had given in and confessed, faster than he had anticipated. It was almost anticlimactic. Suddenly, he was in a hurry to get to Joséphine. He only hoped she was all right. But surely, had her condition turned for the worse, Nadir would have sent for him.

He stepped up to Raoul. "I need to get back home. I have been away from Joséphine too long already."

"Of course. I will tell the police all they need to know."

Another doctor, followed by two more nurses, came in. He had a syringe in hand and injected Clara with it. She tried to get away, cursing everything and everyone, but slowly succumbed to the medication.

The first doctor approached Erik. "When she wakes up, the police will have some questions for her. Will you stay for the interrogation?"

Erik shook his head. "I need to get back home to my wife, but the Vicomte offered to stay here."

"What will happen to her?" Raoul enquired.

"Well, she is clearly unstable, and if she actually is responsible for the poisoning, she will be sent to the criminal ward of the hospital Salpetriere. If her hallucinations continue, she will stay there, otherwise, she will await trial in prison." He turned to Erik and shook his hand. "Please, let me express my best wishes for your wife. I sincerely hope that she will recover from this ordeal."

Erik said his thanks and made to leave, but was stopped at the door by Raoul. "Do you want me to come by once I am finished here?"

Erik looked at him appraisingly. "No, go home to Christine. I am sure she is already worrying about you. Rest, we will talk later." He squeezed Raoul's shoulder. "I appreciate all that you have done for Joséphine and me tonight. Thank you, Raoul."

The Vicomte actually blushed. "You are welcome." He gave a lopsided smile. "Now, off you go, leave the ghost and be man I now know you can be."

Erik did not have to be told twice.

_A/N: The modern name of the maison Dubois is Hospital Ferdinand Widal. It is the anti-poison centre of Paris. I couldn't find out how long this goes back, so I took some liberties with it. The hospital Salpetriere exists as well. During the french Revolution, it was the world's largest hospital, serving also as a prison for prostitutes and 'madwomen'. In the 19th century, it became famous for its phsychiatric centre. Today, it is a reknowned teaching facility. __I have no medical expertise at all, so I took some liberties with the doctor's reaction to Clara's hysterics. _  
_I also hid a quote from another Gerry Butler movie, anyone recognizes it? Thanks for reading!_


	40. Back to Life

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Big Hugs to my wonderful beta Luthien Saralonde, who's really stressed at the moment. I wish her all the best! YOU ARE GREAT!  
Another big thanks to Protochan, who describes herself as pretty decent editor (she's damn fantastic, actually), and who did an amazing job editing this chapter! Thank you!  
_

**BACK TO LIFE  
**

When Erik returned home, he found Joséphine still unconscious. Florence had once more given in to exhaustion, and was sleeping at the chair by the window, where someone had thrown a plaid blanket over her to keep her comfortable. Mathilde was has half asleep as well, sitting on the floor next Joséphine's bed, her head on the mattress. Nadir was sitting on the other side of the bed, observing Joséphine for any kind of change. When Erik came in, he rose to greet him.

"How did it go?" he asked in a whisper, as to not disturb the dozing women.

"It is over," Erik replied, fatigued. He took one look at his wife, then sat down heavily on the chair in front of the vanity, placing the bag next to it.

"What happened?" the Persian prodded.

"She confessed. When I left, the police were on their way," Erik told his friend.

Nadir's eyes widened. "How...I mean, what did she...?" He broke of.

"It is a wonder what effect a little threat can have on people," Erik said ominously.

"So did you..."

Erik smirked. "Oh, _I_ did nothing. But the ghosts of Joséphine and her father were quite persuasive, I must say," he said mysteriously. "And the fact that the Raoul played along so well helped of course," he added.

"You have come to like him, Erik," Nadir said mischievously.

"Hell, no! I don't like him!" Erik shot back, careful not to be so loud as to wake the girls. He then added silently: "But I do respect him. He has more potential than I gave him credit for a few months back."

"Oh, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship," Nadir teased him, but suppressed his smile at the annoyed look Erik gave him.

"How is Joséphine?" Erik asked, changing the subject.

"She has not stirred yet, but the shaking has completely stopped, and she regained some colour. It seems she is recovering."

Erik felt some of the fear and tension that had occupied his heart after Joséphine had fallen unconscious lifting. Observing the people in the room, he was once more astonished by how much his life had changed in the last few months. And all this because in the spur of the moment he had accepted the marriage proposal of what he then thought was a mad woman.

He looked up and gave his friend a small smile. "Thank you Nadir," he said sincerely.

Nadir replied with a smile of his own. "Think nothing of it, my friend. I truly hope you and her will find the happiness you both deserve."

Erik squirmed slightly. Yes, apparently his wife would recover, but there was still the problem of her believing that he had betrayed and left her for Christine.

Quietly, he moved towards the bed and sat down, grasping Joséphine's small hand. Now that the trembling had subsided, she seemed so peaceful, lying there as if only asleep.

Erik bent down and gently pulled a strand of hair away from her face. "Joséphine, I don't know if you can hear me, but I want you to know that I never wanted to hurt you like I did. Please believe me that I did not kiss Christine. I could never do that to you. I love you. And I am going to stay here and not leave until you believe me." He sighed, fighting back the tears that began attacking his face as he spoke. God, when did he turn into such an emotional wreck that cried all the time?

* * *

"_Joséphine...kiss...Christine...leave..."_

* * *

"Please, wake up. I don't want to be alone now that I finally found you." Giving into his emotions, he reinforced the pressure on her hand.

And almost jumped from the bed in surprise when Joséphine weakly squeezed his hand in return. Something between a gasp and a sob escaped his lips, drawing the attention of Nadir and waking Mathilde.

"Monsieur, when did you get..." the maid started drowsily, but was interrupted by the Persian.

"Erik, what happened?"

It took Erik a moment to calm his palpitating heart, before he was able to reply. "I felt her, she..." he finally choked out, not daring to believe it just yet.

Mathilde grasped Joséphine's right hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She broke into a broad smile when she felt her friend react to the stimulation. Looking at Erik, she saw tears streaming down his left side, not noticing that her own vision was becoming blurry with tears. "Oh Monsieur, she will be all right!" Mathilde exclaimed happily, pressing Joséphine's hand once more, and letting out another cry of joy when she felt Joséphine react.

"I guess it is only a matter of time now until she wakes up," Nadir stated, having to sit down on the chair of the vanity from his pure exhaustion.

"I hope so," Erik replied, gazing down on his wife, his voice full of emotion.

"Monsieur, what about Clara?" Mathilde asked, having calmed down somewhat.

Erik tore his eyes away from his wife's features and looked at the maid. "She confessed to the poisoning in the presence of me, the Vicomte a doctor and a nurse. She will either be sent to jail or the Salpetriere."

Mathilde's eyes widened. "How did you..."

"It is not important to know how," Erik interrupted her, "only that she will no longer pose a threat to this family."

Mathilde nodded understandingly. Sitting up, she noticed the sunlight breaking through the tear that Erik had made into the curtains earlier. "What time is it?" she asked, turning around. "The other servants must surely be awake by now!"

As if on cue, they heard voices coming from downstairs. Mathilde gasped. "Oh my, Camille will be wondering why her mistress is not home yet!" She sprung up from her position and headed for the door. She looked at Erik. "Do I inform them now about what happened?"

Nadir spoke up quickly, answering for his friend. "Don't tell them about the poisoning, just that Joséphine and Clara fell sick at the ball, and that Clara is in the hospital." Erik only nodded in affirmation.

"I will, Monsieur," the maid answered, curtsying automatically. "I will come back as soon as I can," she added, standing at the frame of the door. Looking once more at her friend before leaving, she closed the door quietly behind her.

Erik's attention returned to his wife. He gently stroked her hand and continued whispering soothing words into her ear. "Please love, come back to me. My life is meaningless without you..."

Soon, his vision became blurred once more from his tears. Closing his eyes and letting them fall freely, he failed to notice when Joséphine's eyes began to flutter open.

* * *

"_Life...meaningless..."_

* * *

The last thing Joséphine remembered was running away from Erik and this girl.

Seeing them kiss was the most horrible thing she had ever experienced. The moment she set her eyes on the couple, her heart broke into a million tiny pieces that pierced her body, pushed the air out of her lungs and made her ache everywhere.

As Erik looked at her, still in the embrace of the woman he loved, she felt as if a wave of misery and pain had crashed down over her, swallowing her whole.

Wanting to leave this place as soon as possible, she did not wait for any of them to say something that might hurt her even more, and rushed back inside and started looking for Florence, wanting to tell her that she really did not feel so well.

While crossing the room in direction of the corridor, she stumbled upon the last person she wanted to see at the moment. Well, not the last, Clara would have been worse.

Raoul de Chagny intercepted her, hoping to get the dance she had promised him earlier.

* * *

"I am sorry to disappoint you, Monsieur le Vicomte, but I am really not feeling well, and I would rather pass and look for a carriage to bring me home."

"Then please, let me at least bring you to the door," the young aristocrat offered, noticing her discomfort.

Knowing that she could not decline his offer without appearing impolite, she accepted. After taking a few steps her vision blurred for a moment, and she gladly put her arm upon his.

* * *

Raoul started to inquire about Erik and she wanted to cry, thinking of what she had just witnessed, and fought desperately against the tears and the urge to tell the Vicomte of the events that had taken place. Still, she knew she would remain faithful to him until the end, never exposing him to anyone.

And after all, the Vicomte was to pity, for he was going to lose his young wife as well. He had seemed so enamoured with her, so she bravely masked her inner turmoil and tried to ease the Vicomte's suspicions. It was neither her place nor her wish to disclose his wife's betrayal at the moment.

* * *

"You are not the first to ask about the Opera Ghost when one sees my husband, Monsieur le Vicomte," she started explaining. Raoul looked at her, surprised that she would broach this subject so freely.

"I've been married to him for a while now, and I can tell you that the only thing Erik and this Phantom have in common is a mask. Erik is..." unable to continue, the grieve of having lost him now overwhelming her, and the tears finally falling.

Raoul was embarrassed, she seemed to be tired of having to answer questions like this time and time again. He really hoped he had not endangered her too much with his curiosity, for she seemed to be crying from frustration now.

Suddenly, she started trembling; tightening the grip she had on his arm.

"Are you alright, Madame Perrault?" the young aristocrat asked her, concerned.

"Yes. No, I feel..." Joséphine broke off, the shaking growing stronger.

Suddenly, the room started to spin uncontrollably, and the next moment, everything went black.

* * *

"...is meaningless without you. I love you."

Slowly, Joséphine opened her eyes, feeling dizzy and disorientated. It took her a moment to register that she was no longer in the Chagny ball room, but in her own quarters, laying on her bed. Every part of her body seemed to ache, especially her head, and her vision was blurry.

"What happened?" she asked, but no sound came out. Her throat was too dry, and she had the awful taste of garlic in her mouth.

Her vision was starting to clear up. The dark shade of a person to her left began to take on form. The moment her mind realized that Erik was sitting next to her, the events of the ball came crashing back on her: the feeling of being sick, the jealousy of seeing Christine's youth and beauty, Erik's betrayal and the pain that came along with it, the ache in her head and the vertigo before blacking out...

Yet by far, Erik's betrayal supplied the most of her pain. It hurt so much to think of it, even more than the pain her body was in. Her whole body tensed being so close to him, knowing that she had lost him once and for…but wait, what was he doing here? Did he come here to thank her for helping him win the love of his life back? To see if she was going to be all right? Why was he not with Christine? Had she, despite of the scene she had witnessed on the terrace rejected him and he was here to settle with the next best thing? She once thought that she was going to be okay with that, but it was no longer enough. She would rather be completely without Erik than sharing her life with him in the knowledge that he would never come to love her.

She tried again to say something, but only a croak escaped her lips. Still, it seemed to have done the deed, for Erik's eyes snapped open and focused on her. His golden eyes were looking at hers with an intensity that was almost too hard to bear.

* * *

When a small sound came from the person lying next to him, Erik's eyes snapped open to see Joséphine looking at him. Unmitigated joy built in his heart at seeing her conscious again.

"Joséphine!" he whispered. She reacted to her name by closing her eyes for a moment, and he started repeating her name over and over, getting louder every time, even waking up Florence with it.

"What…" Florence started, nearly falling of the chair in surprise. Nadir rushed to her side in an instant, steadying her.

"Joséphine is awake," he explained in a hushed tone, not wanting to disturb the moment between his friend and his wife.

Clearly, Florence thought differently, for she bolted from the chair and hastened over to the bed, wanting to see for herself that her friend was among the living again.

* * *

When she heard her name fall from his lips, tears welled up in her eyes, and she closed her eyes, not wanting him to see in them the pain he caused her with his mere presence. A commotion to her right caught her attention. Willing her body to respond to her command, she finally managed to turn her head away from him and focus on it. Florence had sat down on the bed, grasping her hand, tears falling down her face. She looked exhausted, her otherwise carefully styled hair was disheveled, the ball gown she wore wrinkled. Had she been there all the time? How much time had passed since the ball? It took her a while to focus on the words that spilt from her friend's mouth.

"Oh my god, we thought we had lost you. I am so glad you are back with us, my dear." Florence babbled, overcome with emotion. "Everything is going to be all right now, you will be safe, and Clara will never hurt you again."

Clara? What did Clara have to do with all this? Joséphine's mind was too foggy to remember that her stepmother had already harmed her friend Mathilde, and that Erik had feared that she would plan to go against them. Erik. Why couldn't he just leave and leave her to her misery. She heard him repeating her name like a mantra, more silent now though, and it tore at her heart with every syllable. She could not take it any longer, she felt so tired and hurt.

"Leave me alone," she choked out, her voice rasp. Sadly, the wrong person responded to her plea, for Florence made to get up.

"Of, course dear, you need your rest. I will come back later, when you are better, love."

Weakly, Joséphine tried to hold on to her friend's hand, shaking her head almost imperceptibly.

"No."

Florence gazed down at her, unsure. "Joséphine?" she asked hesitantly. When her friend squeezed her hand more tightly, she sat back down, looking at her quizzically. Slowly, as if it hurt her too much to move, Joséphine turned her head to face her husband.

"Erik, go," she said quietly, surprised by the hurt she saw in his eyes after uttering her wish.

* * *

'She's going to be fine, she is going to be fine,' Erik's inner voice jubilated happily. His eyes never left her face, taking in her wonderful olive green eyes. He felt more as he saw Florence approach on the other side of the bed, and saw Joséphine's head turn to acknowledge her friend.

When she said she wanted to be left alone, he hoped sincerely that she was talking to Florence, that she wanted to talk to him, to sort things out between them. But when she turned back to face him, he knew that she meant him to leave even before she repeated her request.

Although he had expected that sort of reaction from her, it hurt him nonetheless. But after all, the memory of seeing him in the arms of Christine was still too fresh in her mind, and since she had blacked out before he had had the chance to explain, there was no way for her to know that he had rejected his former pupil.

'But, maybe I could make her understand, tell her what happened,' he pondered silently. He opened his mouth to explain, but she started shaking her head, clearly distressed, repeating her wish.

"Go, leave me," she commanded, her voice stronger now.

Ignoring the strange look Florence gave him, he tried desperately to reason with his wife. "Joséphine, please, love, let me explain…"

"Just go, now!" Joséphine all but cried out, jerking her hand away from his grasp and turning her whole body away from him. Florence was there immediately and held her in a motherly embrace. Sobs whacked her strained body, and she repeated over and over that she did not want him here.

Erik jumped when he felt the Daroga's hand on his shoulder, gently urging him to get up and obey his wife's wishes. But he did not want to leave, he had to try and make her understand. "No, please, just listen, Joséphine, I…"

"GO!"

"Come, Erik, leave her alone for a minute," Nadir spoke quietly but insistently behind him, intensifying the pressure on his shoulder. "She is not ready yet, give her time," he added, trying to soothe his friend.

It hurt Erik to see her like this, knowing he had caused her pain. Broken, he stood, and let himself be guided to the door by the Persian. Before leaving, he turned once more, hoping in vain that Joséphine would change her mind and call him back. But it was not to be, so he left, with sagged shoulders and his head bowed in despair.

_A/N: So, my plan to finish this story after two years in November '10 was not to be, there are still some chapters left (whacks her muse on the head for withholding inspiration). Sorry for the delay, but my life's pretty topsy-turvy right now. __  
_


	41. Girl Talk 2

___I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Thanks to Luthien Saralonde, my ever faithful beta. I wish her all the best and may she achieve great things in her life! Thanks also to my other beta Protochan, who always makes lots of suggestions to make mw story better. Thanks!_

**GIRL TALK 2**

As soon as Erik and Nadir were outside, they saw Mathilde rounding the corner from the stairwell into the corridor with haste. She bolted towards them, concern written all over her face.

"What happened? I heard voices. Is Joséphine all right?" she panted. She had run up the stairs as soon as she had heard the commotion from her mistress' room.

Erik continued to look down at the floor, unwilling to voice what had happened. Mathilde took in his broken appearance, and turned to Nadir to fill her in.

"Joséphine woke up, right after you left," the Persian told the young maid. When he saw relief wash over Mathilde's face, he lifted a hand to signify her that he hadn't finished. "She sent Erik away, she doesn't want to see him."

"But why, Monsieur?" Mathilde questioned. "I don't understand..."

"She saw Christine kiss me at the ball," Erik murmured just loud enough for her to hear.

Mathilde's eyes widened. "But...oh..." She stopped, trying to process what he had just told her. Her eyes darted between the door to Joséphine's room and her Master, finally settling on him. "She thinks you don't love her, right?" she whispered, her heart going out to the masked man in front of her.

His continued silence and the desperate, broken look on his face, so contrary to the energetic man she had come to know in the past months, spurred Mathilde into action. She reached out and touched his arm in a sympathetic gesture. Erik's head shot up, his eyes meeting hers. She had never seen him so sad, not even when she saw him plead with Joséphine's unconscious form to come back to him.

"I will talk to her, explain everything," the young woman told him, a determined look on her face. When Erik looked at her dejectedly, she continued. "You do love her, I know it," she said resolutely, eliciting a sly smile from Nadir, "otherwise you wouldn't be here, but with Christine. And the Vicomte wouldn't have helped you either," she added as an afterthought. She patted his arm, as if appeasing a child. "Go get some rest, Master, and I will take care of Joséphine."

With that, she left the two men in the corridor to keep her mistress company and fully enlighten her as to the situation at hand. Erik looked after her, not daring to get his hopes up. He had hurt Joséphine more than once, and, given his less than stellar history with women, he feared to be rejected again, and it was entirely his fault.

He was torn from his thoughts by Nadir, who gently took him by the arm and nudged him towards his room. The Daroga started opening the door, but Erik's hand shot out to halt him. "It's too close, I cannot stay here."

Before Nadir could say anything, Erik had started walking again, and, he, not wanting to leave his friend alone, followed him as they headed downstairs. The Persian was not really surprised when Erik strode straight to the music room, sitting down in front of the piano in a fluid motion. Nadir stopped at the door, unsure if his friend would want his company. But Erik motioned for him to come in, and he quickly closed the door behind him, sitting on a wooden chair on the other side of the room. He listened silently as his friend began to pour his desperation into the music, ignoring when the sad tones Erik brought forth from the instrument moved him to tears.

* * *

Mathilde entered her friend's room, her heart almost breaking from seeing the look of despair on Joséphine's tear-stained face. Joséphine lay in the arms of Florence, who was rocking her gently, consoling her even if she did not know what exactly was going on.

The upper class lady looked up as the servant girl entered, motioning for her to come over. For a while, the two women simply could do nothing but watch their friend as emotion wrecked her. It was not until the sobs subsided somewhat and her tear canals had almost run dry that they could attempt to do anything to her. Florence rubbed her friend's back soothingly, hoping that she would soon calm down enough to tell her what had caused this heartbreaking display of emotion.

Finally, Joséphine fell back into Florence's arms, exhausted from her emotional turmoil and the after effects of the poisoning. Gently, the older woman lay her down on the bed, covering her with the sheet, then turned to address the maid.

"What was that all about?" she asked her quietly, a puzzled look on her face.

"What do you mean, Madame?" Mathilde replied evasively.

"Why did she send Erik away?" Florence continued impatiently. "Surely she does not think he is involved in all this, does she?"

Mathilde shook her head. "No Madame. And I don't think my mistress even knows that she has been poisoned," she told the lady in a hushed tone, hoping that Joséphine would not learn of Clara's betrayal in such a state. "All I know is that there was an incident at the ball between her and my master, and she is still upset about it."

"But what happened? I don't remember seeing them fight."

"That is not for me to tell, Madame, I am sorry," Mathilde told her. "But the master asked me to talk to her on his behalf," she said. When Florence made no movement, Mathilde quietly, but firmly added, "Alone."

"You can't just throw me out of my friend's room, girl," Florence reprimanded her, her offence at such a request clearly showing.

"Madame, I do not want to be disrespectful, believe me, I only wish to follow my master's orders on this," Mathilde argued, hoping that the lady would not make a scene.

A noise from the bed drew both their attentions to Joséphine. Seeing her with her eyes open, Mathilde moved over to her.

"Milady, I need to speak to you privately," she spoke softly. "About the Phantom," she added in a whisper barely loud enough for Joséphine to hear.

Joséphine's eyes widened, and she threw a worried glance towards the maid, then turned to address Florence.

"Please Florence, will you leave us alone for a few minutes?"

"As you wish, but I will be back soon, my dear," Florence replied indignantly as she walked towards the door. At Mathilde's "Thank you, Madame", she huffed and left the room.

* * *

Joséphine sat up and rested her upper body against the headboard. Still exhausted, it proved itself as quite the challenge, but when Mathilde sprang forward to assist her, she held up a hand and refused. Mathilde had to smile involuntarily at this display of stubbornness. She only hoped that she would yield faster on the subject they were soon to discuss.

"How do you feel, Joséphine?"

Tiredly, Joséphine rubbed her eyes, and tried to remember how she had come here from the ball. But she could remember nothing besides talking to the Vicomte de Chagny before she blacked out. "I...how did I get here?" she asked Mathilde, ignoring her question. Only then realising what the maid had whispered to her earlier, she grabbed her hand and pulled her close, eliciting a surprised cry from the girl.

"You...what do you..." Joséphine started, and stopped herself, thinking that maybe she was still dizzy from having been unconscious and misunderstood what her maid had said. Quickly, she rephrased her question. "What did you say about a phantom before, Mathilde?" she tried to sound casual, but, with her throat still dry and her body tired from whatever ailment she had suffered from, she was not sure she succeeded.

Mathilde moved to make herself comfortable at the edge of the bed and smiled at her reassuringly. "We both know whom I was referring to, Joséphine," she said, and continued quickly before Joséphine opened her mouth to object. "I have known for a while now." Taking in her friend's shocked expression, she elaborated. "Honestly, do you think I am stupid? A day after the Opera Garnier burns down, you bring home a man who hides half of his face first in bandages, then behind a mask. And everyone here in the house has heard him play the piano on more than one occasion, and the music he plays is...there is hardly a word to describe it." Mathilde paused, trying to find words, but Joséphine beat her to it.

"Heavenly," she breathed.

Mathilde smiled. "I would have said otherworldly, but yes, heavenly works just as well."

"But...all this time...and you never said anything to me?" Joséphine asked her friend, feeling somewhat betrayed that Mathilde had kept her knowledge secret from her.

Mathilde cast her eyes downwards. "In the beginning, I wanted to, but I never knew how to bring it up. I supposed you knew, and since you didn't talk to me about it, I saw no reason why I should breach this subject.

Joséphine nodded. "Still, I wish you would have said something. I could have..." she broke off, new tears forming in her eyes.

Mathilde reached for a handkerchief, which Joséphine took gratefully, trying to control herself before her tears overpowered her again.

"You could have what, my dear? Tell me," Mathilde probed, gently stroking her friend's hand.

"I...it would have been easier for me, if I had known that I could confide in you," Joséphine admitted finally.

"Then tell me now, I am here," her friend insisted, all the while holding her hand reassuringly.

"It is too late now, it is over, I..." and again, fresh tears made it impossible for Joséphine to continue.

Mathilde knew immediately what her friend was referring to, and knew it was her job to tell her what had happened, not only between the Master and the new Vicomtesse, but also Clara's attempt to murder her own stepdaughter.

"It is never too late for anything, my friend," she started, but was interrupted by Joséphine's wail.

"It is, I lost him," Joséphine interrupted with a wail. "I saw him...oh God, why ever did I agree to take him to the ball?" Joséphine cried, turning around to bury her head in the pillows.

"Now listen to me, Joséphine, and listen well," Mathilde said, her voice soothing, yet firm. "What you saw was not as it seemed, and the Master never betrayed you."

"But I saw him kiss the girl!" Joséphine cried, her voice muffled by the pillow.

"No, what you saw was Christine kissing him, not the other way around," Mathilde revealed.

"What is the difference in that?" Joséphine all but yelled at her friend.

"But there is, Joséphine," Mathilde berated her gently. "It is you the Master loves, not that girl."

"No, I saw them, they were..." new sobs hindered Joséphine to continue.

"If it is as you say, then why is the Master here and not with the Vicomtesse?" Mathilde asked her friend, trying to help her move past the pain she felt. "And why was the Vicomte himself here to help?"

That, at last, rose Joséphine from her lamentation. She raised her head from the pillow to cast a puzzled look at her friend, though her eyes were almost shut from having shed too many tears in such a short time.

"Chagny? What...I don't understand," Joséphine said.

"What is the last thing you remember, Joséphine?" Mathilde asked, moving closer and starting to rub her friend's back, trying to calm her before beginning to explain to her what had happened. Telling her mistress of the dreadful deed her stepmother had performed would be a difficult task in and of itself, and she needed Joséphine to be calm for when she finally revealed the truth.

"I wanted to leave, because I saw..." Joséphine began, but broke off. It hurt too much to talk about it right now, and she didn't want to have another uncontrolled sobbing fit. Mathilde only nodded and asked her silently to continue. "...and because I was not feeling very well, but then the Vicomte cornered me, and since I told him that I felt too nauseous to dance, he decided to accompany me to the door. He asked about Erik, and I was so dizzy, and..." Joséphine broke off, a troubled look on her face. "...I must have fallen sick and fainted, I can't even remember how I got home," she concluded.

"I do not know how best to tell you this, Joséphine, but you have been sick because you have been poisoned," Mathilde explained tentatively. She tried to think of a gentle way to break the news of Clara's betrayal and crime to Joséphine, but found none. She reasoned that being abrupt with the truth would be the best way to confess Clara's sins.

Joséphine looked at her, wondrous. "But I did not eat anything at the ball, I cannot have been...how could I have..." Suddenly, realisation dawned on her, and her eyes widened in shock. "No, you must be mistaken," she pleaded with her friend, who only nodded sadly, confirming her suspicion. "No, Mathilde, she wouldn't...she couldn't..." Joséphine broke off, the truth of it overwhelming her.

"You have been feeling sick all week, remember?" Mathilde probed quietly. Joséphine only nodded in confirmation. "The Master's friend, the dark-skinned man, he said that Clara used arsenic. She tried to kill you and almost succeeded, had it not been for the combined efforts of the Master, his friend, and the Vicomte," she told her.

"But why? I never did...oh...the heritage," Joséphine whispered. "She tried to kill me because I found a way to access my heritage?"

Mathilde nodded, knowing how hard this must be for her mistress. Despite all the differences and fights between the two women in the last year, Joséphine had always tried to get along with her stepmother, knowing that her father loved her.

"From what I know," Mathilde informed her, "she was beyond all reason, driven only by revenge. She poisoned the punch at the ball to cast suspicion on someone else.

"Oh my God, is..."

"As far as I know, you were the most affected, since she had been poisoning you all week. But some of the guests were transported to a hospital."

"And Clara, where is she now?" Joséphine asked, glad that all the other guests were all right.

"She drank some of the punch herself, and was transported to a hospital. She confessed being the culprit, so she is probably on her way to the prison Saint-Lazare."

"I never would have thought that she...I know that we did not get along very well in these last months, but still..." Joséphine murmured, still digesting the awful news, when Mathilde's last sentence suddenly dawned upon her. "She confessed?" she inquired, raising her voice quite a bit in the process. "Why? Why go through such lengths and try to not make me the sole victim, and then tell everything?"

"I do not know, Joséphine, but the Master and the Vicomte went to see her at the hospital, and when the Master came back, he told me that she had confessed," Mathilde explained.

"The Vicomte, why was he even here?" Joséphine asked, perplexed.

"Well, since the poisoning happened at his ball, he came to see how you were faring," Mathilde started. "And well, it seems that the Master and he have formed some sort of truce, and that would not have been the case if the Master had pried the Vicomtesse away from him, right?" she concluded.

"Maybe he just didn't succeed, and she refused him a second time..."

"But then the Vicomte would not have come here in peace and worked together with the Master these past hours," Mathilde countered.

Joséphine fell silent, pondering over what her friend had just said.

"You should talk to him," Mathilde advised her, referring to Erik. "Ask the Vicomte too, if you wish, but don't make the mistake of sending him away when you don't know the whole story."

Joséphine looked at Mathilde, fresh tears forming in her eyes, but she fought hard not to let them fall. "I don't know if I can face him yet. I feel so tired," she told her. "And seeing him only brings back the memory of what I saw."

"You will have to talk to him eventually, but of course, I will not force you to do it immediately," Mathilde replied, earning a small smile from her employer. "Still, I do not know how long I can hold him back from barging in here to see you," she continued. "He almost never left your side, and did everything possible to make you overcome the poison. He loves you, you know."

Joséphine looked at her doubtfully.

"I knew it before, but after this night I have no doubt of the depth of his feelings for you, Joséphine," Mathilde insisted. "He truly is..."

The sound of the piano being played downstairs interrupted her. The music was so breathtakingly beautiful, that both women were immediately enthralled by it and stopped their conversation.

The melody started powerful and aggressive, but soon changed into a more melancholic tune, which spoke of love and heartbreak. Then it changed again and became more hopeful, speaking of forgiveness and the hope to overcome all obstacles, and to win the heart of the loved one again.

Completely moved by the passion and emotion with which the music was played, both women had tears streaming down their faces without them even noticing. They were holding hands, finding comfort and solace in each other, staring down at the floor as if they could see through it.

Finally, Joséphine tore here gaze away from the planks and withdrew her hand from her friend's grasp to wipe her tears away. Erik's powerful music had her moved to the core. She knew she had to see him, now, to clear up everything between them once and for all.

"Help me get downstairs Mathilde, now," she said determinately, and pushed her body up from the bed, quelling the wave of dizziness she felt at the sudden motion. Mathilde tried to make her lie down again, but she shook her head forcefully. Grabbing her friend's hand again for support, she tried to stand. It took her a few tries, but she finally succeeded.

Slowly, they made their way to the door.

"I am coming Erik, and you had better be playing this music for me, or I swear, I will do everything in my power to make you suffer," she whispered under her breath.

_A/N: Once again, it took me quite a while to finish the next chapter, but this time, I have a rather good excuse: I moved to Paris, France; to live with my boyfriend. So, after Christmas I really had no time to write, even if my muse would have inspired me to. I'll take some new pictures of the Opera next week for all you Phantom phans, all right?_  
_**Merci** alors to all of you for sticking with me and patiently waiting for me to update!_


	42. Making Up Is Hard To Do

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Big hugs and thanks to Luthien Saralonde, my ever faithful beta, who won't give up on me or the story. Big Thanks to Jenna as well for her input, your rephrasing was much appreciated!  
_

**42. MAKING UP IS HARD TO DO  
**

As if in a trance, Erik's feet led him to the music room, seeking instinctively the only thing that always brought him solace – music. Normally, when he was in such a distraught state, he preferred to be alone, but this time he did not mind having Nadir follow him. Nadir obviously knew of his preferences and hesitated at the door step, but Erik motioned for him to come in and sat down in front of the piano, while the Persian made himself comfortable in a chair in the opposite corner where a set of violins hung.

Erik opened the lid and put his fingers over the keys, ready to start playing. But inspiration would not come. He sat there for minutes, staring down at the black and white keys, willing them to speak to him, so he could pour his soul into song, put all his emotion into music, transform his desperation into sound, and take his mind off of what he had quite possibly destroyed with his actions.

He looked up at the ceiling, his fingers grazing over the instrument without actually touching it.

"Please, Joséphine, find it in your heart to forgive me," he murmured, looking back down at the piano again as he finally brought his fingers down to the keys and started to play.

Nadir watched him from the corner, feeling great sympathy for his friend. In all the years that he had known Erik, he had never seen him so wounded, so desperate, not even when the Khanum had dealt out the worst punishments she could imagine for his masked friend.

Nadir was surprised how long it took Erik to finally start playing. He knew that music had always been his emotional outlet, the one refuge he could turn to whenever he needed it. Seeing that his hopefully only temporary fallout with Joséphine had him perturbed so much so that he had trouble expressing himself with music only told him how much Erik had grown to love his wife.

When the music finally started, Nadir released a breath he hadn't known he had been holding, brazing himself for the emotions Erik's powerful music was surely to bring forth from within his misery.

Erik had intended to start with a slow tune, but quite apparently his hands had different thoughts, for after a few bars his fingers started flying over the instrument, and the tune became more aggressive, and very soon he was hammering down on the keys, pouring his self-loathing over what he had put Joséphine through into the melody.

Not long after he had started, the masked man's surroundings fell away, and the only thing that was flowing through his thoughts was his music: It was the only thing that had ever really mattered and the only thing he could not imagine to live without. Not even Christine had been that important to him. Sometimes, he had even considered her as nothing but another instrument to bring his music to a higher level. 'Strange,' Erik thought, 'how perspective can shift in time.' A sad smile grazed his lips, while his mind started reminiscing over the past few months that had led up to this point, to him being here, yearning yet again for love.

With his thoughts running wild, so did his music, and where one moment it was aggressive enough to almost make Nadir jump from his seat at the raw power of it alone. The next piece of his emotional repertoire was slow, and heartbreakingly sweet. Finally Erik settled for a more melancholy tune, unconsciously repeating the main theme of the song he had composed for Joséphine right before they had received the invitation for the dreadful ball.

The melody Erik brought forth from the instrument with his talented hands was hauntingly beautiful, speaking of love and heartbreak, of missed chances and loss. Nadir was soon moved to tears, as was Erik, who nonetheless kept on playing with his eyes closed, not acknowledging the tears that were slowly streaming down his cheeks.

When the door slowly opened, both men were so enthralled by Erik's music, that they did not immediately notice the two women who had stopped at the threshold, staring in wonder at Erik, who sat hunched over the piano, his hands flying over the keys and his body swaying slightly in tact with the melody he created. It was only when Joséphine, still weak from the poisoning, stumbled and her body hit the door frame, making Nadir jump from his seat in the opposite corner, that Erik rose from his trance and turned his head towards the door. Registering Joséphine standing there, held upright by Mathilde, made him halt his music abruptly.

For a moment, time stood still for both of them as they stared at the other. Erik simply sat there, not believing his eyes, as he silently thanked whatever power there was that the woman for whose live he had feared only a few hours ago, was up and well again. It was only when he saw her knees buckling that he stirred into action. With an almost inhuman speed he was at her side, none too gently pushing Mathilde out of the way and taking her place at his wife's side, supporting her.

Joséphine lifted her head to look up at him, her eyes questioning. Wetting her lips, she tried to speak.

"Erik..."

"What the hell do you think you are doing out of bed?" Erik said, interrupting her. "Are you completely out of your mind, woman?"

Before she could even start protesting, he lifted her up into his arms, and turned around in direction of the stairwell. Still too weak to struggle, she could do nothing more but glare at him, easily showing her displeasure towards her husband with his display of paternalism. When they arrived at he stairwell, she finally found her voice.

"Let me down this instant, Erik, or I swear I will..."

"You won't do anything, my love," Erik replied, not noticing how Joséphine's eyes widened at his use of such an endearing and implicative term at her, "at least not until the doctor has checked on you." That said, he swiftly strode up the stairs and brought her back to her room, Mathilde and Nadir following in their wake, casting each other bemused glances.

Once back in her room, Erik put his wife gently down onto the bed, then, straightening himself, he glared down at her. "I don't know what you were thinking, getting out of bed like this. And you," he turned towards Mathilde, who stood with Nadir at the doorstep, "you should have known better than to help her." Mathilde cringed at the reprimanding tone.

"Will you stop it, Erik," Joséphine interfered from the bed, propping herself up on her elbows. Erik turned back to face her, and, thinking that she was going to rise again, made a move to push her back down. However, a glare that she shot at the masked man made him stop where he stood.

"It is not her fault. She did try to make me stay in bed, but I am her Mistress and she had to obey me. And, if it is anyone's fault I got out of bed, it is yours, Erik," she admonished her husband. Erik looked at the woman, simply bewildered at her chastization of him.

"The music you played, I had to come and see you. We..." she hesitated, "...I..." her voice broke again, her feelings and her fatigue quickly overwhelming her. She sank back down on the bed. Within an instant, Erik was with her, kneeling down next to the bed. She turned her head away to hide the tears that threatened to spill, as she tried to get herself under control again.

"Joséphine, I know you have no reason to believe me, because for so long my goal was to win back Christine. But I know now that she is not the woman I need, and especially not the woman I want," Erik pleaded with her, grabbing her hand instinctively. Not long after he began holding her hand did he feel his wife's hand tense under his touch, and promptly retracted his hand in response. Too much her reaction reminded him of responses he had gotten all his life when he had touched someone, and people had recoiled from him, for they could not stand to be touched by such a monster.

Joséphine turned her head to look at him when she felt him pull away. The forlorn look on his face made her heart ache for him. She looked down to where his hand hovered over hers, than back at his face, understanding suddenly dawning on her. Without hesitation, she took his hand in hers, relishing the feeling of his cool skin touching hers.

Erik's eyes gained focus again as he gazed at his wife, then down at their joined hands. Unconsciously, her thumb started stroking his hand, and this small sign of affection made hope spring inside of him; hope that he hadn't ruined everything, and hope that he would have a place in her life once again.

A noise coming from the door made both of them realise that there were still other people in the room. Almost simultaneously Erik and Joséphine turned towards them.

"Leave us," Erik said shortly.

"Would you give us a moment?" Joséphine asked their friends.

Both Nadir and Mathilde had trouble controlling their expressions, the servant girl more than the trained police man.

"Of course, Milady," she said, only hardly restraining a giggle. She curtsied and practically ran out of the room.

Nadir gave the young couple a bemused look, then switched his concentration to Erik. "Behave yourself," he mouthed at him, then swiftly followed the maid.

Once their friends were out of the room, an awkward silence fell upon them.

_A/N: So sorry for letting you wait this long, it feels like forever to me too...New city (Cologne, Germany) since april, new job since june. And apparently I left my muse in Austria, and she just came back to me...SO SORRY! Don't know when the next update will be, but I'll try to chain myself to the computer to finish Erik's and Joséphine's romance this year. Thanks to all of you who let me know that there were readers out there, waiting for me to update; you gave me a terribly bad conscience, but apparently I needed the reminder! Hugs!_


	43. Making Up Is Hard To Do Part 2

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. __Luthien, my ever faithful beta, I wish you all the best. Danke für deine Hilfe, du bist fantastisch!  
_

**MAKING UP IS HARD TO DO PART 2**

Once their friends were out of the room, an awkward silence fell upon them. Joséphine turned her head away again, for she did not want him to see her insecurity. For a moment, both were lost in their memories, reliving the past months and everything that had brought them up to this crucial point in their relationship.

Neither of them noticed that they had never stopped holding hands.

Finally, Joséphine took a deep breath and looked back at her husband. Their eyes met, and Joséphine was once more astonished by the raw emotion she saw in Erik's golden ones. Yet, she was unsure how to read it. She wanted to know what Erik had to say about what she had witnessed between him and the Vicomtesse at the ball, but on the other hand was terribly afraid to learn the truth. So, she chose to inquire about her stepmother, still astonished by what her maid had told her earlier.

"Is it true, what Mathilde told me about Clara?" she asked him softly.

"Joséphine, at the ball, I..." Erik, choosing to start at the same time, needed a moment to understand that Joséphine had asked about something else. Although he had rather get this misunderstanding out of the way, he understood her reluctance, and obliged her wish.

As he did not know how much Mathilde had told Joséphine, he asked:

"Is it true that she tried to poison her stepdaughter? Yes, it is. That this vile woman fed you arsenic during the last few days? Yes, it is. That, in her unbalanced state, she risked other people's lives in her desperate attempt to finish yours?"

Erik sensed that he was talking himself into a rage, but he couldn't prevent from feeling a deep and burning anger when he was even thinking about Clara. Too late did he notice how his rather blunt approach on this matter had affected Joséphine, for she had let go of his hand and now had a tight grip on the blanket and a frightened look in her eyes.

"Oh Joséphine, I am sorry, I did not mean to scare you, I just assumed that Mathilde had informed you about..." he started, but Joséphine brought him to a halt by reaching for his hand again. Erik could not help but being grateful once more that, despite everything that had happened these last 24 hours, she still was touching him so willingly.

In his desperate quest for love, he had convinced himself that, as recompense for how the world had treated him, he deserved someone's love, and especially Christine's, whose love and affection he had felt to have rightfully earned by teaching her and protecting her while she grew up in the opera house.

But now, even though he wanted nothing more than for Joséphine to love him and take him back, he was unsure if he even deserved her love.

Joséphine's voice roused him from his thoughts.

"Yes, she told me, but it is still hard for me to believe that she was capable of doing all this. I wonder if I am at least partly responsible for all of this by defying her and taking the money away from her just days before it would have finally been hers," she mused.

Erik froze. He snatched his hand away from her, making her look at him in bewilderment, not knowing what had come over him.

"You mean everything would be fine if you had not married me?" he spat, all too ready to give into the well-known rage caused by rejection.

Joséphine's eyes widened. Why did he always have to be so sensitive and so quick to be angry?

"No, Erik, that was not what I said, and certainly not what I meant!" she chastised him.

He looked at her, his golden eyes blazing.

"Don't you think that it would have been easier if we hadn't had to deal with Clara's jealousy at all, too?" she beseeched him.

Erik knew she was speaking truthfully, but it was still all too easy for him to fall into this old habit of distrust, looking constantly for the worst in everyone.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

"If you had not stood up to her, which was your right to do, we never would have met," he said slowly, his voice but a mere whisper.

'...And you would have never had to go through all this pain,' he added mentally.

Joséphine gave him a sad smile, which made him wonder if she had guessed what he had been thinking.

"Mathilde told me that she is at the hospital, but under guard, since she confessed everything," she continued, unwilling to ponder on 'what if's'.

Erik nodded.

"Why did she go through all this trouble and then confess so shortly before obtaining her goal?"

She looked at him quizzically. "Erik, what did you do?"

"What makes you think I did something?" he asked her, his voice giving nothing away.

"Mathilde said you were at the hospital, and that she confessed in your presence," Joséphine replied. "And well...when I asked you..there was a look on your face that was...you did not harm her, did you?" she demanded.

The corners of his lips tilted upward; he was impressed that she could read him so easily even with half of his face hidden under the mask.

"No, I did not," he finally answered. "I merely used some of my rather unique talents to make her confess."

Joséphine waited for him to elaborate, but Erik shook his head. "It is not important that you know how, Joséphine, but believe me, I did not harm her in any way."

"Why not?" she questioned him.

"I would have gladly killed her, and a few months back, I would have done it without scruples."

"Then what changed?"

"You made me change," Erik admitted quietly.

Joséphine opened her mouth to reply, but Erik continued.

"The night you found me, my world had broken apart. I had lost everything, my home, my music, the woman I thought I loved," he explained, looking carefully for his wife's reaction at the mention of Christine. He saw her flinch, but otherwise she gave nothing away.

"You asking me to marry you was definitely surreal," he professed. "But at the time this marriage seemed quite convenient for the both of us."

Joséphine held her breath to keep herself from trembling. She dreaded what he would say next.

"But I want to stop this pretence now."

As Joséphine's eyes filled with tears, Erik realised his mistake. Quickly, he rose from his kneeling position to sit down next to her on the bed, then took her hand in his, lifting it up to place gentle kisses on it.

Joséphine looked at him unbelieving, her expression doubtful and lost.

"Oh Joséphine, forgive me, I..." he struggled to find the right words, "...I am at a loss how to express what I feel for you." Slowly, he took off his mask, baring himself before her both physically and emotionally.

"What I meant is that I want to be your husband, not just on paper, and I wish nothing more than for you to be my wife. No more pretences, no more secrets, no more hiding behind masks between you and me. I love you, Joséphine."

Joséphine wanted desperately to believe him, but doubts about the sincerity of his feelings were still nagging at her. She knew she could no longer avoid confronting him.

"What about Christine?"

Erik knew that now more than ever he had to choose his words carefully. "She's in the past, and of no importance for what I want my future to be. A future with you, if you will have me."

"But I saw you with her. It did not seem like she meant nothing to you," she accused him, new tears welling in her eyes.

"I am so sorry. I never should have gone to that ball. I should not have needed the confrontation to know that I am no longer interested in her. I should have listened to my heart, not to my brain," Erik admitted.

"And yet you call yourself a genius," his wife replied dryly, making him cringe.

"It was one of the most stupid things I have done," Erik admitted grudgingly. "And I have done foolish things in the past."

'Like abducting a woman and threatening her fiancé so that she might marry me, or causing the fire in the Populaire by crashing the chandelier.'

"I really want to believe you, Erik, but...it hurt so much to see you with her, and when I look at you now, it's..." Joséphine broke down, sobbing uncontrollably now.

"I never meant to hurt you so much, Joséphine, please, believe me," Erik pleaded, distraught by her display of emotions. "I know how it must have looked like, my love, but I really did not kiss my former pupil," he told her, avoiding mentioning Christine's name. He wanted desperately to make her feel better, but he was not sure how to accomplish that. Grabbing a tissue from the bedside table, he handed it to her.

She took it gratefully, and tried to compose herself somewhat. "Then tell me what happened."

"You remember that she recognized me when we presented us to the newly-weds?" Erik began.

"Yes."

"I had to talk to her, if only to make sure that she would not tell on me and betray my identity to the Vicomte, so I met her outside on the terrace."

Erik paused, recollecting this dreadful moment, gazing towards to window. "Did you know that in all the time I spent tutoring her, she never even asked my name?" he asked rhetorically.

"She was about as surprised to hear that I had a name as she was to learn that I was married. She was pouting, seemingly disappointed that I had moved on. It was then that I finally saw her for who she really was. A little girl not content with having gotten her prince, but demanding the monster's affection too."

"You are not..."

"I am not a monster, I know," Erik interrupted her objection, looking down affectionately at his wife. "But that I feel like a man, cherished and loved, is solely because of you."

Erik had to fight not to smile when he saw Joséphine blush at the compliment. "As I said," he continued his account, "the fact that I was no longer interested did not bode well with her. And...well...before I knew it, she was pressing her lips on mine. Which was when..."

"When I stepped onto the terrace to get some air," Joséphine finished his sentence, a pensive look on her face.

Erik nodded, watching her closely, trying to guess how she would react now that she knew what had happened.

"Clara offered me some punch right before she recommended I step outside to get some fresh air," Joséphine told him solemnly. "I can't believe that she behaved so nicely toward me when she was poisoning me at the same time."

"Joséphine..."

"But you made her confess, and she won't come back, right?"

Erik nodded, bewildered by her agitation.

"Can you promise me? Promise me that she will not intrude on our life again?"

"I promise," he replied sincerely, taking her hand. "And if you let me have any say in this matter, no harm will ever come to you whatsoever, now and for the rest of your life."

Joséphine gazed down at their joined hands, noticing the wedding band on her own, and the unadorned fingers of his. Slowly, her gaze rose to meet his. She was amazed at how vulnerable he looked right now, not because he was not wearing his protective mask, but because of the look in his eyes.

He really was unsure if she believed him, if she still wanted to be with him after all this, she realised with astonishment.

Did he not know that she would have wanted to be with him even if he had only decided to stay with her in case he had not won over Christine? True, it did not speak well of her self-esteem if she settled for being his second choice, but who cared? Especially now as it turned out that she wasn't his second, but his first and only choice. He loved _her_, not the Vicomtess. Her!

Joséphine rejoiced inwardly, trying hard not to beam up to him and pull him down for a kiss. But no, she would make him wait a little while longer, waiting on pins and needles for her answer. For the kiss she had witnessed may have been forgiven, but not forgotten.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. "Do people already know about Clara? What will happen once it gets out that she's the culprit?"

"Well, I...I don't know. I guess the truth is bound to be found out. She admitted her crimes after all in front of witnesses."

"Maybe those can be bought. And then...we will get her to a sanatorium, telling everyone that she has caught the same illness I suffered from, and no one has to know what she did," she said, her voice sounding panicky.

Erik's expression grew stern. "She tried to murder you, and you care about her reputation?"

"Don't you understand Erik? If it comes out what Clara did, people will look at us differently. No one will say anything directly to our face, but they will treat us differently. I am not going to be a social outcast just because my stepmother has gone mad!"

He looked at her doubtfully. "Don't you think you're overreacting?"

She gave him an incredulous look. "Overreacting? People are cruel, and you know it, even better than I do. Don't tell me that you have forgotten how people treated you simply because of the way you look."

Erik shook his head, suddenly ashamed that he had accused her of being too emotional. He remembered all too well all those moments.

"I will do what I can to hush things up. I can go right back to the hospital, if you want," Erik said resolutely, about to get up from the bed.

Joséphine held him back, grasping his hand. "Later, Erik." She almost smiled at the look he gave her, but tried her best not to show her feelings.

"Sit down, I am not finished with you," she told him, her tone neutral.

Erik did as she said, bracing himself for a potential rejection.

"Tell me, what will happen the next time you see Christine? What if she tries to charm you again?"

Erik shook his head. "I won't give her another chance to ambush me. And if you do not trust me on that, I will stay away from any social gatherings where she will be present."

"Erik, that is ridiculous. I will not let you hide from her and give her the satisfaction to think she still has some thrall over you."

"But..."

"No, Erik. If you want this..." she motioned between the two of them, "marriage to work, you will not hide in the shadows any longer, and you will meet her with your head held high, and by my side," Joséphine told him fiercely, her tone challenging.

Erik did not know what to say to that, so he simply nodded his head.

Something else then occurred to her, and she had to know if her husband had also heard the rumours. "At the ball, I heard..." she paused, wondering how best to phrase what she wanted to tell him. "There were rumours about Christine being pregnant."

Once more, Erik nodded, his expression unreadable for her. "I know, the f...Raoul told me when he was here last night."

"How do you feel about it?" she asked him tentatively.

He took a moment to consider his answer. "It is certainly good for them, and I think they will be happy together, but truthfully, it also makes me a little sad."

Joséphine stilled. "Why? Because her child won't be yours?" she asked, clearly offended.

Erik gave her a look that said 'Well, isn't it obvious?', but when she did not react, he explained. "No, of course not. I never even thought about having children with her, or anyone else, for that matter."

Misinterpreting her relieved sigh, he elaborated. "But it saddens me that I will never have the joy of being a father."

"Erik, I do not intend to stay a virgin in this marriage," she told him.

He actually looked embarrassed. "You know what I am talking about, Joséphine, and you can't deny that you feel the same."

"Apparently I do not, and I have no idea what you are talking about," she told him, getting impatient with his delicate wording.

Erik motioned towards his face. "I was born like this. How can I do this to a child?" he stated, his voice and expression equally guarded now.

Comprehension dawned on Joséphine. Of course he had never thought of having children on his own. She opened her mouth to reply that it did not matter to her, but closed it again to really think about it. Would she love a child that was born with the same deformity as his father, or an even worse one? Of course she would, she loved Erik. Would she prefer an unharmed child? Of course she would.

Even in her upper-class circles, where money and a title could get you very far, and make people forget some of the flaws you had, a child with a deformed face would not lead an easy life and be confronted with myriads of problems. But it could always be sure of his mother's love and support. No matter how her child looked, she would love it unconditionally. So would Erik, wouldn't he?

"If our child was born with a deformity, would you neglect it as your mother did, or would you make sure it felt loved and cherished?

His answer came quickly. "How could I not love a child that is yours?"

"So even if our child happens to come after his father, it is sure to have it's parent's love and affection," she concluded, hoping he would realise what she meant by it.

Erik looked at her doubtfully. "Surely you cannot..."

"...love a child that is yours?" she interrupted him, no longer able now to hide her smile. "Tell me again why you call yourself a genius." At his lost expression, her smile turned into a laugh. "My God, Erik, I love you!"

He looked at her, baffled at her outburst. Then a smile broke out on his face, and he bent down to kiss her. She welcomed him warmly, throwing her arms around him, pulling him even closer. Their kiss soon became heated, neither wanting to end what they had missed so very much, but it was Joséphine that finally pulled up for air. Some colour had returned to her face, and she was breathing heavily. Erik thought she looked marvellous.

"You want to be my husband for real?" she asked him, beaming up at him.

"I offer myself to you with all my faults and strengths, and I vow to love you and care for you, Joséphine, as long as we both shall live," he told her, reciting part of the wedding vows they had exchanged at the registry.

She brought him down for another kiss, cherishing the feel of his cool lips on her. Once the kiss was over, she looked him deep into the eyes.

"So tell me, why is it that I have such an awful taste of garlic in my mouth?"

_A/N: Almost at the end now, I suppose that's why it's taking me so long to finish...I have trouble saying goodbye..._


	44. All's Well That Ends Well

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Luthien, thank you for waiting so patiently for my chapters to do your great job as my beta! Big hugs to you!  
_

**ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL**

Florence, still put out over having been thrown out of the room, had waited in the library, where she had given in to her exhaustion and fallen asleep. However, she was woken not long after by Nadir once Erik had brought Joséphine back to her room.

She had complained to Nadir about the treatment the maid had given her, and asked if he knew what was going on. As the Persian could not give her a truthful answer, she had huffed and decided to talk to Joséphine. She had after all spent all night here, at her friend's side, she had the right to get some answers!

Florence entered without knocking, and therefore found Erik almost on top of Joséphine, their arms around each other, and their lips locked.

She must have made some noise, for the couple stilled in their embrace. Thankfully, Erik had his back turned to her, and he immediately reached for his mask to put it back on before his wife's friend could see his exposed features.

Once 'dressed', Erik turned to face his wife's friend, his features indicating clearly that he did not like the interruption. Florence had the grace to look embarrassed having surprised them in such an intimate moment, and tried in vain not to blush.

"It sure seems that the two of you have sorted things out," Florence commented after having regained her composure, now causing Joséphine to blush, while she pushed her husband away from her. Erik shook his head indignantly at the treatment he received when one moment ago she could not seem to get near enough to him.

"Now, I demand to know what is going on here, and I won't go home before I get some answers."

Erik looked at her. "Surely this can..."

"No, it cannot wait, and I will not wait. I won't be thrown out of the room again," Florence insisted, reminding Joséphine of earlier, when Mathilde had asked her to leave. She approached the bed. "Joséphine, I know you must be exhausted, but as you seem well enough to bestow your husband with your affections you might as well grant me a few minutes."

"This is..." Erik started, but was interrupted once again.

"Erik, please, give us a minute," Joséphine said quietly, giving his hand a light squeeze. Erik looked at her, begging her silently not to make him leave, but she would not yield. Knowing his wife would not change her mind, he scoffed and left for his adjacent room, mumbling something about getting refreshed and being back in a while.

Once the two women were alone, Florence drew the chair from the vanity over to the bed and sat down next to her friend. "Whatever disturbed you before, it can't have been that severe, since the two of you get along again," she started the conversation.

Joséphine propped herself up, and with Florence's help adjusted the pillows to a comfortable sitting position.

"Will you tell me why you sent him away earlier?" Florence asked her friend.

Joséphine twisted in her position, trying to stall, thinking rapidly what answer she could give her friend. The connection between her, Erik and the Vicomtesse de Chagny had to be kept a secret, but she could think of nothing that she could use as an explanation for her reaction to Erik's presence when she woke up.

She wondered briefly if Florence had been informed about Clara's involvement, but dared not to ask her. Trembling at the thought of her stepmother's betrayal, she remembered something else that had happened at the ball: the short encounter of Erik and Gilles, Florence's brother and the palpable tension between them.

"It is...well...it was about your brother," Joséphine said finally.

"My brother?" Florence's eyes widened. "So that was why you wanted me out of the room!"

Joséphine did nothing to negate her friends assumptions; she was actually glad the her explanation seemed to be accepted.

"What did Gilles do, Joséphine?" Florence inquired.

"Nothing, really," Joséphine replied truthfully. "He simply was one of the first people we encountered after we had arrived at the ball, and he complimented me on my looks. Then Clara mentioned something about how close we were, and that we eventually would have ended up married..."

"I assume Erik did not take this very well," Florence concluded.

Joséphine nodded. "In retrospect, it was no reason to fight about, but I had not felt well all day."

"You were already suffering from Clara's poisoning," her friend interjected.

"So, one thing led to another, and we had a big fight. And when I woke up, the memory was still so fresh in my mind," Joséphine finished, trying hard not to think about the real memory she was talking about.

"Poor dear, you have been through so much lately," Florence stated, patting her friend's hand. "Do you want me to have a word with Gilles?"

"No, he really did nothing wrong, Florence. And I don't want everyone to know that Erik and I had a fight."

"Of course, my friend." Florence said, nodding. "After all the commotion at the ball and Clara's behaviour you hardly need people talking about your marriage too." She stilled. "You do know about Clara, right?"

Joséphine nodded. "Yes, but I do hope that Clara's involvement can be kept a secret."

"But Joséphine, she has to be hold responsible for her misdeeds! You cannot possibly want..."

"Florence, think about it for a second. One persons wrongdoings can ruin the reputation of a whole family."

"Surely..."

"Remember what you told me about Madame Descotaux and how she was shunned in society after her husband had committed the murders of their daughter and son-in-law?," Joséphine argued. "She was not at fault, and, if I remember correctly, even tried to warn her daughter. Still, she is now considered an outcast in society because of what her husband did."

Florence conceded, nodding sadly.

"I do not want to share her fate. Erik and I have been through enough to last us a lifetime," Joséphine continued, her voice thick with emotion.

"But...how are you going to prevent everyone from finding out?" Florence asked her friend.

"For the moment, everyone believes one of the Chagny servants culpable of the poisoning. I would like to keep it like that, and if that means I have to bribe someone, I am willing to do it." She gave her friend a careful look. "And of course it means that you cannot talk about this to anyone, not even Christian."

"Christian can keep a secret, you know him," Florence interjected.

"Still, I won't take the risk of anyone overhearing you," Joséphine insisted. "Promise me you will not tell him, nor anyone else besides the people who have been present in this room tonight ."

Florence gave a heavy sigh, but nodded in consent.

"Thank you. I know how close Christian and you are, but believe me, it is better not to involve any more people in this," Joséphine told her friend, then was overcome by her fatigue and hardly stifled a yawn.

Florence took this as her cue to get up. "You still need a lot of rest. I will call on you tomorrow, if this is fine for you."

Joséphine smiled. "Of course it is. Thank you Florence, for everything."

The two women shared a silent moment of understanding, then Florence turned and left.

Joséphine breathed a sigh, and yawned again. She cast her eyes towards the door that connected her room to Erik's, wondering why he had not burst right in as soon as he had heard Florence leave.

A few minutes passed during which Joséphine stared continuously towards the door that led to Erik's bedroom. When nothing happened, she decided at last to call for him.

"Erik? Florence has left, you can come back now," she pleaded softly.

No response.

She began to wonder what might have happened to him. Surely he had not left his room, or had he? Joséphine quelled the doubts that started to manifest again, and slowly rose from the bed. She stood still for a moment to let the nausea pass, then slowly made her way across the room to the connecting door.

She knocked once, and when she heard no response, knocked again softly, calling out her husband's name before opening the door.

The sight she was greeted with made her smile: Erik lay on the bed in an awkward position, the wig half askew. He must finally have succumbed to fatigue and fallen backwards from where he had sat on the bed.

Joséphine made her way over to him, and with some effort pulled him completely onto the bed. She then made herself comfortable beside him.

It wasn't long before she joined him in slumber.

_A/N: Yeah, long time no update, I know...Won't bother with excuses...This is probably the second to last chapter of this story, so bear with me a little longer folks! Thanks for your support!_


	45. The End Almost

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart.  
A BIG thanks to my wonderful beta **LUTHIEN SARALONDE**, who came this long way with me, and was doing a great job finding any misspelled words or bad phrasings! I would not have come this far without her input and help! THANK YOU, Chris, and may Loki not make too much mischief in you life!  
_

**THE END (ALMOST)**

The couple slept soundly until around midday, when Nadir woke the both of them, informing them that the doctor had just arrived downstairs, and that he himself was heading home to make up for some well-deserved sleep. He promised to come back in the evening though, should they be in need of him. Erik only grunted in response, while Joséphine thanked her husband's friend wholeheartedly for his efforts in her recovery.

* * *

The doctor examined Joséphine thoroughly, while Erik stood impatiently aside, waiting for him to leave so he could be alone with his wife again.

Once he was finished, the physician pulled out a small brown vial and put it on the table next to the bed.

"You have to ingest this three times a day, for at least a week, Madame," the doctor explained.

"What is it?" Erik asked the man, suspicious.

"Powdered willow bark, mixed with herbs that favour your recovery. It is best to dissolve and drink it with a blend of water and vinegar," the doctor replied, ignoring Joséphine's grimace at the prospect of such a combination. "Your ailment should pass in a few days. If you have any further questions, just call me."

The man bowed before Joséphine and Erik, then left quietly.

"You did not tell him that I have been poisoned," Joséphine observed, once the doctor had shut the door behind him.

"Neither did you," Erik replied. "Besides, I do not think much of his skills. Mathilde hinted at you being poisoned last night, and he did not mention it today. He does not seem to know what he is doing. He is more charlatan than a real doctor."

"Erik, surely you are exaggerating, I..."

"No, I don't, my love," Erik interrupted her, his tone brooking no argument. "Nadir knows more about the human body than he does, and I would prefer if he looked at this powder that 'doctor' prescribed to you before you consider taking it."

Seeing the look on her face, his gaze softened. He crossed the room from where he had stood during the examination and sat down on the bed, taking Joséphine's hand. "Please, indulge me. I almost lost you, Joséphine. I just want to be sure that you are safe, be it from Clara, a quack salver or anyone else."

"I won't say anything further on this subject," Joséphine said, yawning, "for now, but only because I am too exhausted to argue with you. Do you think we could go back to sleep, Erik?"

Her husband was only to happy to oblige.

* * *

They opted to stay in his room all day, and informed Mathilde and the staff that any visitors were kindly asked to call on them again tomorrow, for Joséphine needed some time to get better before receiving well-wishers.

They did well in doing so, for no sooner than the doctor had left, the Comtesse de Faubournet de Montferrand appeared on the doorstep, wanting to hear everything that had happened after the incident at the ball so she could spread the gossip on the latest scandal of the Parisian high society before anyone else. She was a bit put out that she was asked to come again tomorrow, but, learning later in the day that none of the callers had been received, she was appeased.

* * *

The first visitor in the next morning though turned out to be Raoul de Chagny.

Joséphine and Erik had made themselves comfortable in the salon, having only finished breakfast. Erik stood when Raoul entered, approaching the young man to shake his hand. Raoul resisted the urge to recoil when the former Phantom advanced on him purposefully, but remembered in the last minute that he had nothing to fear from him. It seemed that Erik had sensed his trepidation though, because he had trouble hiding his smirk.

Acknowledging a lost cause, Raoul spoke up, "This will take some time getting used to, I believe." Erik only nodded, then motioned for their guest to come forward.

Raoul bowed deeply before Joséphine, and she lifted her hand for the obligatory kiss. "It is good to see you well again, Madame Perrault," Raoul commented. He was truly glad to see that she was faring better. Already some colour had returned to her cheeks, though she was still paler than fashion these days demanded, and she still seemed to be of short breath, but otherwise she was recovering exceptionally well.

"Thank you Vicomte. I do feel much better since yesterday," Joséphine replied.

Raoul seated himself across from the couple in a chair, and thankfully accepted the cup of the tea a maid had brought in.

Once they were alone again, he got straight to the point. "I have news from the Maison Dubois," he stated simply. Erik leaned forward, immediately interested.

"Once you had left yesterday morning, I waited for the police to arrive, intent on getting the Marquise arrested for attempted murder."

Joséphine gasped. How was she going to avoid a scandal now, since it seemed too late already?

"But then I thought about the scandal it would cause, not only for me and my wife, but also for your family, if the poisoning was found out to not be the works of some jealous servant girls, but of a member of high society itself. An act of servants will soon be forgotten, for our class is not known to give the lower ones much thought. But, a crime committed by an upper-class woman, an aristocrat no less, is sure to be the talk of town for weeks, if not months. All our lives will be scrutinised, and there is risk of somebody finding out about our...common past."

"Did the police talk to Clara?" Joséphine finally inquired, her voice barely above a whisper.

Raoul nodded. "They did, but what she said was barely comprehensible. She repeated over and over again that your ghost was haunting her, and that she did not know how to make it go away. When the police found out that you are very much alive though, they dismissed her confession as the ramblings of a mad woman, especially after I informed them that the culprits had already been found and arrested, and that the Marquise seemed to be suffering from severe hallucinations."

"The doctor who was present before I left, he did not object?" Erik enquired.

"No, though he told the police that he had no idea what could be the cause of her hallucinations. He stated that if she continued hearing voices, he would have to refer her to the Salpêtrière for further examinations."

He looked at the couple in front of him, his body tense. He was not sure if he had made the right choice obscuring Clara's involvement in the crime, but as he had said to Nadir the night before, he would show no scruples to protect his wife. Now he only had to wait for Joséphine and Erik's reaction, and would do all in his power to persuade them that this was the best option for all of them.

Joséphine was the first to respond to his revelations. "She is still at the Maison Dubois though?"

Raoul nodded, taking out a folded sheet of paper from his left pocket. "I asked to deliver this personally to you. It is the doctor's attest informing you that the Marquise will be transferred to the Salpêtrière in two days, should you not prefer finding private accommodations for her continued treatment." He handed the note over to Erik, but Joséphine snatched it away, reading through it with trembling hands.

"Erik, we cannot let her get admitted to an asylum. I know what she did was evil, but I do not want everyone to know about it. Please, we have to take her some place else," she pleaded with him.

Before Erik could answer, Raoul intercepted him. "If you permit, I offer you our house at the coast to accommodate your mother during her illness. I can make arrangements for her transfer this afternoon, if you wish."

"This is most gracious of you, Vicomte," Joséphine replied immediately, getting up to take his hand. "I do not know how to thank you for you offer."

Raoul eyed Erik expectantly, waiting for his answer. He saw the man's jaw clench when Joséphine thanked him so warmly, but he did not know what to do. He was surprised when Erik got up as well to shake hands with him.

"I am in your debt, Vic...Raoul," Erik said, "Given our complicated past," at this understatement, Raoul almost snorted, "I did not expect that you would come to my aid, nor that you would forgive me for my past misdeeds. I will eternally be grateful for everything you have done for me and Joséphine in these last days."

Raoul squirmed, clearly uncomfortable with the display of emotion and gratitude. "I...I had my own interests in mind, Erik, do not forget that. I don't want my family any more in the centre of attention than it already is due to my marrying a commoner."

Once the couple had sat down again, he continued. "Speaking of my wife...she first insisted on coming with me today." He saw Joséphine tense up immediately, and knew that he had made the right choice in coming alone. "But I persuaded her that it was in her best interest to stay away from the both of you for the time being," he hastened to explain.

"I know that this is a delicate situation, but I feel more comfortable straightening things out between us before we meet at the next social event."

Joséphine sprung up from the fauteuil and started pacing the room. "You did well telling her to stay away, not only from my husband, but also from me, for I cannot guarantee my reaction should she try ambushing Erik again!"

'The nerve of the girl!' Joséphine thought agitatedly. 'Poor Vicomte, he seems a decent man.' When she crossed in front of the fauteuil, Erik halted her by grabbing her hand. "Joséphine, calm down. Please."

"Calm down? She..." Erik stood up and pressed his lips on hers, silencing her effectively. When he let her go, Joséphine chanced a glance a Raoul who had averted his head in respect, and had turned a brighter shade of red upon witnessing this open display of affection.

"Vicomte, I apologise for my outburst. You must understand that this whole affair is rather disturbing for me. I look forward to seeing you on any further social events, and I will do my best to get to know your wife, but we clearly had a bad start," she conceded.

Raoul nodded, thinking the matter closed for the moment. He did not intent to reveal to them that Christine's wish to come here with him had resulted in a heated argument between him and his wife.

* * *

She had pleaded with him to let her see her former tutor again, and all his insistence that Erik Perrault was not the Phantom did not deter her. He tried to make her understand that her childish behaviour was appalling and disgraceful for a Vicomtesse. In return she had only complained that Raoul's sisters and most of the staff did not treat her as such, so why should she behave as one?

When she had dared to threaten to call the police, telling them that Erik was the long-sought Phantom of the Opera, he had had enough of her antics and spoken very harshly to her. He made it clear that first, Erik Perrault was not the Phantom, because if he were, Raoul would already have made sure he was arrested, and second, if she so wanted to see her Phantom, she could leave and go looking for him, but wasn't welcomed back.

Christine had broken into tears, and looked at him with her doe eyes, clearly surprised by his vehemence. Seeing that it was of no use to argue further, she had run into her room to wallow in pity.

* * *

"Raoul?" Erik calling his name brought him back into the present.

"I apologise, my thoughts drifted off for a moment," Raoul admitted. "You were saying?"

"I asked if you would accompany us to the hospital this afternoon to make arrangements for Clara's transfer," Erik said.

He had noticed how the younger man's face had saddened when they had broached the matter of Christine, and since their happiness together was in his best interests, he was willing to help Raoul as best as he could with all he knew about Christine. Still it was best they discussed this afar from Joséphine, lest she might get jealous by his continued interest in his former pupil.

"Of course, just tell me when, and I will be there," Raoul answered, getting up.

"I will send you a note," Erik informed him, then, reminiscing about having done so frequently in what he considered now his former life, added, "neither sealed with a red skull nor signed O.G."

Both smirked at that, while Joséphine looked at them, bewildered. She stood, bidding the Vicomte good-bye. "Please accept my sincerest thanks for everything you have done for us Vicomte. I hope you will come visit us in the future."

Raoul bowed deeply, and, after giving Erik one last nod, left.

* * *

While Erik was out at the hospital with Raoul, Joséphine had to resist the combined efforts of the Comtesse de Faubournet de Montferrand and her daughter to squeeze every last bit of information out of her. Thankfully, Florence had come to join her for lunch, and assisted her as best as she could to feed the two gossip mongers just as much of the truth as necessary. They informed them about Clara's ailment, and her subsequent need for isolation, and how the Vicomte and his wife had insisted on helping, feeling overcome with guilt for the workings of their servants. When mother and daughter left, Florence and Joséphine were sure that it would take them less than a day to spread the story throughout the city and maybe even further.

Once they were alone, Florence enquired what had happened to the two servants that had been arrested. Joséphine answered that Raoul had persuaded the police to release them in his care, and had then told them they were free to go, but to never set foot into Paris or any town nearby again. He had given them money so they could fare for themselves for a while, bribing them to keep their mouths shut about the whole affair. He informed them that should they talk about the matter to anyone, he would talk to the police and have them arrested again.

Florence admitted that she had not thought that the innocent looking Vicomte had it in him to act like this, but that his handling of this delicate affair was rather impressive. Joséphine could only nod and acquiesce.

* * *

After his dealings with Raoul at the Maison Dubois, Erik came home exhausted, glad to be with his wife again, only to find her in the company of not only Florence, but also her brother, Gilles Becault. Erik's mood deteriorated almost immediately.

Florence, sensing the sudden tension in the room, made haste to make her and her brother leave, but Gilles, oblivious to the lie Joséphine had told his sister, ignored her winks.

Erik had trouble not openly showing his dislike for the man, but managed to remain calm, and, explaining that Joséphine needed to rest after a long day such as this, succeeded in making them leave.

Once they were gone, he turned to his wife. "I do not like him. I don't want to see him again in this house, do you understand?" He glared at her, his tone murderous.

Joséphine looked at him, realisation only slowly dawning on her. She had not told Erik what reason she had given Florence to explain their argument, but she now saw that she had hit home with alluding to Erik's jealousy.

With a smile on her lips, she stood on her toes and captured his mouth with hers. Erik reacted immediately, deepening the kiss, drawing her closer to him. When they broke apart, he looked at her bewildered, for he had been sure that she was going to argue with him, not kiss him senseless.

"What was that for?"

"You do not need to worry about Gilles, Erik," she told him, smiling. "I love you, only you."

"Still, I..."

"Hush, say no more. I will indulge you by not meeting him. For now. But you don't get to decide where I go and who I meet, do you understand? I had enough to put up with because of my stepmother trying to control my life, I don't need this behaviour from my husband."

Erik closed his eyes, ashamed. He had not wanted to take control like that, and he understood why she made her position clear to him immediately. He knew she loved him, and she had always supported him, even when she thought she was going to lose him. Still, he had trouble trusting anyone completely, but he was more than willing to try.

"I am sorry," he conceded finally.

Joséphine smiled. "I know. Now, I am famished. What do you say we tell Cook to prepare for dinner?"

* * *

A week had passed since then, and the stream of visitors who came by to inquire after Joséphine's and Clara's health had yet to end.

Not soon after one well-wisher had left, the doorman announced the next one, and on the third day, both Joséphine and Erik could not stand any more repeating themselves over and over again, for every one seemed to ask the same questions.

Still, despite all odds, everything seemed to have worked out exceedingly well.

As sure as the sun comes after the rain, the society had already moved on to the next scandal. Coraline Simone, a famous actress of the Comédie Francaise, had committed suicide. She had been pregnant, and stated in her fare-well letter that the child had been born of an affair with the politician Jacques Carbert. Until now, Carbert had been known as a conservative, a faithful family man. Charlotte Carbert, hearing about her husband having taken on a mistress, had taken her five children and moved back to her family in Lyon.

Clara had been transferred to the Chagny mansion near the coast up north, and her maid Camille had followed her. Raoul had made sure to assign three more trustworthy servants from his employees, who would take care of her.

Joséphine had pondered if she wanted to see her stepmother one last time before she was sent off, but Erik convinced her that it was not a good idea. Clara's state of mind was quite fragile after the Phantom had paid her a visit at the Maison Dubois, and, to Erik and Raoul's bewilderment, had not stopped complaining about being haunted by Stanislas and Joséphine. Apparently, the whole episode had been too much for her to bear.

Nadir had referred Joséphine to a Persian physician, and the doctor had helped improve her health at great lengths in just a few days. The contents of the other doctor's vial proved to be helpful as well. Her headache had lessened and the swelling of her limbs was all but gone. All in all, she felt quite good again, after having been through so much.

One evening, when she sat with Erik in the winter garden after dinner, she felt that the time had come to tell Erik that she felt fully recovered. They had exchanged some heated kisses over the last few days, but Erik had always been wary over her state of health and had therefore held back. Not that she didn't mind him being so considerate, not at first, but the kisses and caresses they exchanged every day were driving her slowly but surely mad. She wanted more, wanted to finally know how it was to be with a man, to share her bed with her husband, Erik.

Being in a place as hot and humid as the winter garden gave her the perfect opportunity to make her intentions clear. So, after Erik had finished his drink, she lay her fan aside, stood up and moved over to where he sat.

"Erik?"

His eyes instantly focused on her. He wore the mask, so half his face was hidden from her, but she had learned to read his features quite well.

"This is no longer a marriage of convenience, is it?" she enquired hesitantly.

"Of course not, Joséphine!" Erik exclaimed quite brusquely, surprised by the question. "What makes you..."

"Then shouldn't we...you know..." she had thought everything through so carefully, but suddenly her own nervousness took over, and she was at a loss for words.

'Don't be shy,' she chided herself, 'why should it only be men asking for their marital rights?'

"What?" Erik asked, his voice hoarse. Did she propose what he thought she was proposing?

Instead of answering him, she closed the distance between them and kissed him. His arms went immediately around her, pulling her close.

When she broke the kiss, they were both panting. Joséphine gave him a small smile. "That was a promise of what is to come, should you decide to follow me up to our rooms."

That said, she moved towards the door, her hips swaying slightly, and Erik felt his pants tighten painfully in response. He looked at her, his mouth watering, her eyes glued to her rather enticing backside.

When Erik did not respond, she turned her head to see him glued to the spot, apparently frozen. "Erik, are you coming?" she asked, beckoning him to follow her.

Erik rose from his hormone-induced stupor and came after her.

_A/N: Well, my dear readers, after nearly four years I am almost done with this story. I could leave it like that, but I am already working on a bonus chapter - an epilogue. Though, given the time between my updates, I guess this one will take a while too. _  
_I am honoured about the amount of readers, followers and reviewers I have acquired as this story developed itself. I wish to express my big thanks to all of you who added my story to their favourites and became followers to updates. A special thanks to all those who chose to review! I got some real good input from some you, and it was a pleasure reading your thoughts and observations on my little fic! _  
_THANK YOU ALL!_


	46. Bonus - Together at last

_I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart._

_Here it is, the last chapter of the story, after more than 4 years! Big thanks to Luthien Saralonde for the help and support she has shown me over the last years!_

_Also, a big thanks to ALL my readers, and especially to those who favorited and reviewed this story! Thank you all so much! Danke schön!_

**BONUS – TOGETHER AT LAST**

As soon as they had closed the door behind them, Erik drew her close and kissed her deeply, wanting her to sense all the love and devotion he felt for her, as well as finally giving into his need to feel her close.

Ever since they had spent the night in Joséphine's bed to fend off Clara's suspicions about their marriage, Erik was awfully aware of the pull she had on him. That she longed for his touch, enjoyed his caresses felt like a dream come true to him, and aroused him to no end.

Having learnt his lesson from the past to not force anybody to do something, he had waited patiently for Joséphine to approach him, although every time he was in proximity to her, his whole being ached to pull her close, to touch her.

He was still amazed by the fact that in one of the darkest moments he had ever experiences he had stumbled upon the love of his love.

Erik broke the kiss when he felt Joséphine tugging at is mask, making it once more clear to him that she wanted him, no matter his disfigurement. He thought his heart would burst with all the love and joy he felt.

His hand covered hers and in one fluid movement, mask and wig fell to the floor.

Their clothes followed, both of them not really registering whose garments came of first, and neither caring about it.

Joséphine was in a daze, her excitement mixing with curiosity and a certain nervousness. But it felt so right being in Erik's arms.

She had not known that they had moved until her legs collided with the edge of the bed.

It was that little distraction from their passion play that made Joséphine feel self-conscious, realising that she was standing almost naked before him and wearing only the rather plain chemise she had worn under her dress.

She moved her hands upwards to cover her breasts but, sensing Erik tensing up, laid her hands on his chest instead. She might feel insecure, this being her first time after all, but Erik's inferiority complex and insecurities were still stronger, being so deeply ingrained within him after everything he had experienced so far in his life that he interpreted the smallest hesitation as rejection.

She only hoped that this would cease under the constant care and affection she would show him.

Erik let out a breath he had not known he had been holding. When he saw her arms move, he really thought that she was going to cover herself up, no longer wanting to proceed. He felt a stab in his heart, but he also accepted the oncoming rejection. He would rather spend the rest of his life without ever touching her than being completely without her at all.

What unmitigated joy he felt when his fears were unfounded and her hands rose to touch him instead. A smile broke out on his face and he smashed his lips on hers.

"Erik," Joséphine spoke against his lips.

"Mhm," he answered, not really wanting to stop.

Joséphine at last broke the kiss, pulling away a few centimetres so she could look at him. She smiled when she saw Erik's eyes glued to her lips, already missing the contact.

She called his name again and he snapped to attention.

"We really need to do something about you always expecting the worst," she told him. Erik looked down sheepishly, but she drew her arms around him, pulling him close.

"I want you, Erik, never doubt that," she murmured against his neck, bestowing gentle kisses on his sensitive skin.

Erik's arms came around her, enveloping her in a tight embrace.

"I love you, Joséphine," he whispered and, reassured by her affections, gently lowered her onto the bed.

Soon the rest of their clothes were shed, and their bodies pressed together to make as much contact as possible.

Joséphine's whispered, "Erik, please," would have been all the invitation he needed, but he wanted to be completely sure.

"Are you ready?" he asked, unable to keep himself from searching her face for any sign of hesitation. There was absolutely none.

"Yes," she breathed, drawing him ever closer. Erik positioned himself and pushed. Joséphine gasped and tensed up when he tore her maidenhood. Erik stilled, giving her time to adjust to the sensation. He kissed her gently, and started to move again once he felt her relax. It was absolute and utter bliss being united this intimately with the woman he loved. Soon his wife was panting underneath him, her body, like his, covered with a fine sheen of perspiration.

Joséphine had never thought that anything could feel this good. True, it had hurt in the beginning, but once the pain had lessened, Erik's movements started to create the most wonderful sensation within her, and she felt as if she was going to bust into a million pieces at any moment.

Nothing else mattered except the man on top of her, and she stared in wonder at his face: his eyes were closed, his brow furrowed in concentration, making the marred side of his face stand out even more. She had thought it impossible to feel even more deeply for him than before, but, being so close to him, feeling him move inside her, moved her to tears.

Tentatively she reached up to caress his cheek and Erik's eyes snapped open.

Erik looked down at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and swollen lips. She was absolutely beautiful.

He stilled his movements for a moment, then pushed into her with renewed vigour. Joséphine moaned, her hands flying to his back, her fingernails grazing over the sensitive scar tissue.

Their movements became increasingly frantic, until suddenly Joséphine's eyes flew open in surprise, a silent scream escaping her mouth. Her body convulsed around him, bathing him in her heat, and Erik could not restrain himself any longer. He let himself go and soon followed her over the edge.

Once they had calmed down somewhat, Erik slowly rolled off of her to rest at her side. One hand stayed at her hips, drawing lazy circles over her skin.

Joséphine rested her head at his shoulder, gazing at him with wondrous eyes.

"Is it always going to be like this?" she asked after a while.

"I certainly hope so," he answered, eliciting a giggle from her.

Erik looked at his wife with deep affection. He had never felt more complete than right now.

Suddenly he jumped from the bed and began searching for something in the pile of clothes on the floor.

Joséphine sat up in bed with a puzzled look on her face.

"Erik, what are you doing?"

Apparently he had found what he had been looking for, for he returned to the bed, hiding something behind his back.

"Erik? What is it you've got there?"

Erik sat down beside her, and moved his hand to the front, holding a small velvet box in his palm. Joséphine gasped, her gaze shifting back and forth between Erik and the box.

"It may not be the perfect moment to give you this-" he began, opening the box to reveal an ornate rose gold wedding band, engraved with a central medallion set with a luminous pear. The sides were adorned with floral figures and a curling pattern on the edges. It was the most extraordinary and beautiful ring she had ever set eyes upon, "-but I cannot wait any longer."

He rose from the bed to kneel down beside it. Tears were already streaming down Joséphine's face, the fact that they were both still naked completely forgotten.

"Joséphine Perrault, will you accept this ring and wear it as a symbol of our love?"

"Yes, yes of course!" Joséphine exclaimed before flying into Erik's arms, making them both land ungracefully on the floor.

Erik shook his head, laughing. "That was not really how I had imagined this to be."

Joséphine flushed red and sat up, pulling him with her. "I am sorry, Erik."

"Don't be, my love. Especially given how our marriage started out, I should have known that my asking for your hand would be anything but ordinary," he told her, still smiling.

Once they were comfortably on the bed again, Erik gently took her hand and put on the ring.

"You mean the world to me, Joséphine. I don't think that I would have ever been able to rise from the darkness I was in without you. You saved my life. You are my life," Erik told her sincerely, making her cry again.

Joséphine gazed down at the ring at her hand, topping the one of her mother, then back up at her husband.

Her life had changed so drastically since that fateful night at the church. When she had gone out to find someone to marry her, she never would have thought that she would find the love of her life, and even less that it would come in the form of the infamous Phantom of the Opera.

But no, she corrected herself. The Phantom was gone, disappeared into the fires that took down the Opera Populaire, from whose ashes had risen the man at her side. Erik Perrault, architect, musician and overall genius, and most importantly, her husband whom she loved with all her heart.

**THE END**


End file.
